


Those Innocent Days Fly By Like A Summer Haze

by dumbasshyperfixationtime



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Alvin Marsh Being an Asshole, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Beverly Marsh Lives With Her Aunt, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Cigarettes, Coming of Age, Crushes, Dead Georgie Denbrough, Derry (Stephen King), Derry (Stephen King) is Terrible, Domestic Violence, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Panic, Growing Up, Heterosexual Ben Hanscom, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Light Angst, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Marijuana, Mentioned Georgie Denbrough, Minor Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Minor Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Minor Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Minor Violence, Munchausen, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Oblivious Richie Tozier, Past Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-IT Chapter Two (2019), Protective Richie Tozier, Recreational Drug Use, Richie Tozier Being a Dumbass, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Dork, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Sassy Stanley Uris, Sleepovers, Slow Burn, Song: Africa (Toto), Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Stanley Uris is So Done, Stoner Richie Tozier, Teenage Losers Club (IT), Teenagers, Underage Drinking, richie toziers parents suck, sonia kaspbrak is homophobic, weed use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-16 01:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 36,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumbasshyperfixationtime/pseuds/dumbasshyperfixationtime
Summary: "Something in him shifts and changes. Suddenly, Eddie feels much younger, almost even babyish... Without speaking, because if he opens his mouth he knows he’ll start crying, he takes the pills and swallows them up one by one.Maybe Eddie isn’t so brave after all."Essentially a fic that follows the losers club after the first movie. This fan fiction ignores anything canon after the first film, picking up where it ends and diverging from IT Chapter Two. Basically, IT if the losers defeated Pennywise the first time around and got a chance at a happy, normal life.





	1. Fourteen

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all,  
This fic follows the losers club after the first movie and ignores anything canon after the first film, essentially picking up where it ends and diverging from IT Chapter Two. Basically, IT if the losers defeated Pennywise the first time around and got a chance at a happy, normal life. 
> 
> This is going to be a slow-burn, long fanfiction that follows Eddie as he grows up between the ages of 14 and 18. It does touch on some heavy subject matter, so I'll make sure to keep trigger warnings before each chapter. This one, though, is much more light and innocent.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie Kaspbrak fought his biggest fears and came out of it alive. So what's the next biggest lineup in his life? Turns out, moving on after something like *that* is much harder than it seems.

The night after defeating _It, _Eddie bikes home alone. Still covered in bile, shaken and exhausted, he pumps his legs feverishly. A silly voice in the back of his head suggests that he fist-pumps, because seems like something a movie character would do in his situation. And, because he’s so ecstatic and high off adrenaline, Eddie raises a fist in the air, pedaling his little legs all the meanwhile, handle bars uneasily wiggling. He whoops and cheers, feeling like nothing could stop him now. Eddie is _invincible_, he could face _anything_. Sure, his bike’s handlebars are slippery with blood, and his hand will probably get infected if it isn’t cleaned soon, but Eddie doesn’t care. He’s faced his worst nightmares and come out of it stronger, smarter, better.  
  
The sky is beginning to turn a reddish colour by the time Eddie makes it home. Feeling somewhat out of breath, he swings his bike carelessly to the floor, skipping towards his front door and throwing it open. Nothing could stop him, nothing could ever scare him again. Eddie is powerful, Eddie is strong, Eddie is-  
  
“Eddie-bear? Is that you?” His heart hammers in his throat, a sickly lump blocking his breath. For a short, silly moment, Eddie wonders if _It _actually is dead. He shakes the thought away immediately, though, because it isn’t exactly a pleasant thing to assume. Hastily, he tucks his bloody, dripping hand in his short's pocket so his mom doesn’t see.  
  
“I’m here ma.” He calls across the house. Sonia Kaspbrak’s large figure appears, rather suddenly, from the hall. Her face is littered with fresh tears, eyes puffy and nose runny from crying.  
  
“Oh, Eddie. My _darling_ Eddie. You worried me sick! C’mere, you gave me a fright!” She opens her arms invitingly, lip quivering all the meanwhile. Acting on impulse, because he’s done this so many times before, Eddie curls in to his mother’s stiff embrace. She holds his face tightly against her breasts, sobbing loudly, it’s stifling; he can barely breathe. Eddie must’ve at some point forgotten about his hand, which honestly looks pretty fucked up at the moment, because he hears his mother squeal with such a vigor that he wonders if she’s having a heart attack.  
  
“Eddie! What’s this?” She harshly grabs at him, examining his palm with wide eyes.  
  
“It’s nothing momma, don’t worry.” Eddie tries in a soothing voice. Sonia is having none of it, her sour breath staggering in a gasp.  
  
“I never should’ve let you leave this house! My poor baby boy, hurt! Quickly, Eddie, you know how fragile you can be!” Before Eddie can even retort, can even defend himself, Sonia is pulling him towards the kitchen, her already strangling grip tightening on his wrist. Eddie wonders if his hand will drop off from blood loss. His mom sits him down, fussing around and eventually pulling an array of pills from their designated cupboard.  
  
“Take these, Eddie-bear! They’ll fix you right up.” Eddie’s head is throbbing, he can barely think with so much going on. He stares at the pills laid out in front of him, and damn near swallows them up without a second thought. But then he remembers and shakes his head, jaw clenching. _They’re gazebos.   
  
_“No.” She looks taken back. In fact, Eddie is pretty sure that his mom has _literally_ stumbled backwards out of shock.  
  
“What?”  
  
“No, ma. I won’t take them.” Eddie clenches his fist beneath the table, giving his mom a hard look. She looks like she might start crying again. Instead, she sighs shakily, hear eyes drooping in pity.  
  
“Is this about that nonsense you were talking about earlier? Honey, these pills _help you_.” Her voice sounds unusually soothing and kind, it’s enough to make Eddie feel weak under her gaze. Something in him shifts and changes. Suddenly, Eddie feels _much _younger, almost even babyish, looking in to her concerned eyes. He notices her looking at his wound, as if she wants to wrap it up and kiss it better. His chest is tight, knees wobbly like his mom’s lip. Without speaking, because if he opens his mouth he knows he’ll start crying, he takes the pills and swallows them up one by one.  
  
He knows that they won’t really have an effect on him, but Sonia’s furrowed eyebrows relax none-the-less. Eddie feels a sickening chill run over his spine, but ignores it. _Everything is fine. _His mother would never try to hurt him, she is his protector. If a few sugar pills will make her happy, he could take them for her.  
  
_Maybe Eddie isn’t so brave after all. _

* * *

During those first few days after _It, _Eddie worries. After everything they’ve gone through, he worries that the losers will stop hanging out and things will go back to how they’d been before. Summer isn’t quite over, but he hasn’t really seen anyone since the whole ordeal. He wonders if the others had only hung out because they _had to_, because they’d been forced together to survive.  
  
And, here’s the thing: Eddie doesn’t mind if they make other friends and expand their social circle, but he knows that he just _couldn’t _stand it if everyone split up. He loves all of them, which might be embarrassing to say, but he considers them to be his family. And this is a _big deal,_ because he’s never really felt like he’s had a family before. His mom is more like his doctor than mother half the time.  
  
By the third day, Eddie can’t take it, his anxiety is tipping over the edge. So, he calls Richie, because he’s always been able to calm him down.  
  
“Hey, Eds! How’s your mom doing, it’s been a while since we went on a date. I was wondering if she was free this Thursday?”

"God, Richie. Can I have _one _conversation with you without it being disgusting?”  
  
“I’m afraid that just can’t happen, you’re too cute when you’re annoyed for me to stop.” Eddie rolls his eyes, pressing his ear closer to the phone.

“Have you heard from the others since… y’know?” He asks, getting straight to the point. Richie’s sigh can be heard from the other end.  
  
“No, not yet. I’ve only talked to you, really.” Eddie nods in response, even though Richie can’t see the gesture.  
  
“I’m worried. What if they don’t want to hang out with us anymore?”  
  
“Don’t worry, Eds! You’ll always have me to hang out with!”  
  
“I’d rather die.” Eddie spits out.  
  
“Ouch! You break my heart!” Eddie laughs, because he can practically _see _Richie clutching his chest, falling to the floor dramatically.  
  
“Don’t call me Eds,” Leaning his elbows on the coffee table where the phone lives, Eddie pouts as he thinks “Do you think it’s too soon to call them?”  
  
“Maybe? I’m not sure… We could see if everyone would like to hang out at The Quarry.”  
  
“That sounds like a really good idea, Rich.”  
  
“Well, I’m just swimming with good ideas. I’m a genius after all.” Eddie rolls his eyes.  
  
“You’re anything _but _a genius.”  
  
“Eddieeee? Who are you talking to?” Eddie turns his head down the hall, noticing his mom’s squeaky voice. Cupping his hand over the receiver, because he doesn’t really want his mom to know that he’s planning to head out, Eddie whispers in to the phone.  
  
“Hey, I gotta go. Could you call the others for me?”  
  
“Sure thing, Eds,” Eddie smiles, moving the phone from his ear to hang up, when Richie continues to speak “Hey, are you alright? With your mom, I mean.” Eddie furrows his brows, opening his mouth to mention that he is still taking his pills despite everything, when another voice speaks through the phone.

“Who is this?” Damnit, his mom is on the other line. Eddie sighs.  
  
“Just a friend, mom. We’re planning a project thing.”  
  
“Hey, Mrs. K!” Richie calls, his voice cheerily singing. All things considered, it’s an extremely unconvincing impression of an innocent friend “I’d love to discuss this… _project_… with you more, Eddie but I gotta go. _Church_ calls and whatnot…” Eddie rolls his eyes and stifles a snorty laugh with his palm. ‘Church calls?’ _What a fucking idiot. _There’s a click over the phone, and Eddie knows that Richie has hung up. He places the phone down, smiling.  
  
“Eddie-bearrrrr?” His mother calls across the hall. Eddie sighs, shuffling towards the lounge room, finding her curled up on the couch.  
  
“Yes, momma?”  
  
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t use the phone, honey. You might get cancer from the radio waves.” Eddie swallows dryly, faking a smile.  
  
“Of course, ma. I won’t use it ever again.” He doesn’t _really_ mean it, but agreeing is harmless enough, almost even _worth it_ when his mother’s tense shoulders ease.

* * *

It takes a _lot _of convincing to get out, Eddie’s mom uses every excuse in the book. She mentions his bleeding hand and broken arm, crying that she doesn’t want him getting hurt again. She claims that she’s lonely, and misses seeing him around. She says he’ll get skin cancer from the sun. The worst excuse she makes, though, is when she says that his friends are a bad influence.  
  
“They’ll make you do _naughty_ things, Eddie-bear!” Eddie sighs, shuffling his feet.  
  
“Momma, I’m not hanging out with them. I’m just studying.” She twists her mouth so tight that it begins to look painful, eyebrows knitted together.  
  
“You’re not meeting up with that _Tozier _boy, are you?”  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” She shakes her head, sighing.  
  
“Oh, Eddie.” Her whiney voice, thick with pity, is enough to annoy him. He doesn’t want to hurt her though. So, instead, he straightens his back and lies.  
  
“I’m meeting with a classmate, we’re only going to the library.” He doesn’t like lying, he doesn’t want to _have to lie,_ but his mother smiles so brightly after he says that. Eddie figures that it’s worth it.  
  
“Be back before dinner, honey.” He promises that he will be, and that isn’t really a lie, because Eddie doesn’t want his mom to spend the _whole day _alone.

  
Eddie manages to get out the house though, and all the losers are able to join. It’s a good day, a fun day. They swim in the river’s warm waters, eat sandwiches that Stanley’s mom made (they’re the fancy kind, with the crust cut off and everything) and laugh at Richie’s stupid jokes. As their time together continues, Eddie’s fears ease. He isn’t really sure what he was so worried about, now that they were finally hanging out again. Things are like they had been before, but less frightening, now that _It _is gone.  
  
By the end of the day, they find themselves on a warm patch of rocks. There’s a lull in the conversation, but Bill is quick to fill it.  
  
“H-how’s everyone duh-doing after e-e-ev-everything?”  
  
“Surprisingly _good._” Mike answers, a smile on his face.  
  
“I feel invincible.” Beverly chimes in, leaning her head against Bill’s shoulder. Eddie notices how Bill’s cheeks blush red.  
  
“Yeah,” Ben begins, avoiding looking at Beverly. Eddie figures he’s kind of jealous. He _did _kiss Beverly down in the well, after all “I feel like I could face anything now.”  
  
“I don’t know about you guys,” Richie begins. Before he’s even finished, Eddie knows that he’s going to say something stupid “but my dick grew _three inches _the night after.” Everyone giggles. Stanley rolls his eyes.  
  
“I’ve been getting nightmares,” Stanley visibly shivers, wriggling uncomfortably “I don’t know about you guys, but I worry that _It _is back sometimes.” Everyone frowns at him.  
  
“That sucks.” Mike whispers, giving Stanley a sympathetic look.  
  
“You don’t get nightmares?” He’s watching his feet, kicking a rock about anxiously.  
  
“I don’t.” Beverly states, shrugging. Everyone seems to be on the same page, a wave of ‘_yeah’_’s and ’_me too’_‘s being exchanged through the group. Stanley nods, seeming embarrassed. Instinctively, Eddie takes his hand, giving it a little squeeze.  
  
“As long as we’re together, we’ll be fine, right?”  
  
“Right.” He whispers, giving Eddie a thankful smile.  
  
And Eddie is speaking the truth. The losers are strong together, they have each other’s backs. If they stick together, they’ll be fine, because nothing could tear them apart. 

* * *

Slowly, one by one, the losers begin to understand what Stanley had meant that day. _It _seeps in to their lives, trauma settling in their bones until their blood pumps anxiety and fear. Sleepless nights and sweaty mornings quickly become a regular occurrence. Sometimes, one of the losers will ring Eddie and sometimes, he manages to convince his mom to let him go see them. Sometimes, the whole group is there within the hour, feeling much braver when they’re huddled in a group. They make sure to hang out plenty, so the fear comes less often.  
  
The scariest night for Eddie is one he will never forget.  
  
The air is thick and sticky with humidity, the effects of summer making it unbearably hot, and he hasn’t been able to sleep, tossing around in his bed for hours instead. Giving up on rest, he sighs and opens his eyes. And Eddie swears, honest to god, that, in the corner of his room, a familiar figure is watching him. He gasps while the leper breathes heavily, its lungs raspy and filled with mucus.  
  
“Eddie…” It groans, taking a step forward. Eddie opens his mouth to scream, but his mouth is too dry. Instead, he girlishly whines. Feeling faint, he kicks himself up the length of his bed until his back hits the headboard. He can feel panic bubbling in is chest, threatening to pop and leave him dead. Eddie can barely breathe. He turns quickly, reaching in his bedside table to grab his aspirator. When he turns back, though, his room is empty. No leper, no monster, just silence.  
  
Eddie holds his asthmatic medication dumbly, blinking as if he expects _It_ to be there when his eyes re-open. He takes his aspirator into his mouth, breathes in two short puffs and doesn’t feel any calmer, his breath still raspy and thick with fear. Eddie curls back in to bed, pulling his sheets over his body protectively, and tries to sleep. But he can’t. He closes his eyes and worries that _It _is in his room and watching him, ready to snatch him up. He opens them, instead, and that’s no help either, because he’s spending the whole time convincing himself that every silhouette in his room is _anything other than _a monster_.   
  
_Leaping out of bed anxiously, he runs around to find his shoes, hating the feeling of being alone.

The bike ride to Richie’s is frantic and fast. The streetlights offer little light and Eddie panics when he thinks he sees a murderer in the street on three separate occasions. Eddie finally reaches the house though, and smiles at its familiarity (And niceness. The Tozier house is _much _roomier than his own). He scampers over to Richie’s bedroom window quickly, knowing that he’s close to safety.  
  
Eddie does a few double-takes to make sure no one is following him (no one is, but he worries someone is lurking the shadows regardless) and pulls his sweater tighter around his body, blocking the chilly air. He knocks against the glass of Richie’s window, and he doesn’t have to wait long until the room is bathed in light and the window opens. Clearly, he hadn’t been able to sleep either.  
  
“Eds?” Richie asks, despite the fact that they are being face-to-face and it’s obvious who he is, even in the darkness of night.   
  
“Let me in, it’s fucking freezing.”  
  
“Yeah, sorry,” He smiles and offers his hand “M’lady.” Eddie rolls his eyes and clumsily steps in to Richie’s room on his own, because he’d much rather risk falling than have to listen to Trashmouth Tozier tease him for needing help weeks afterwards. He plonks himself on to Richie’s bed and feels relief wash over his body. _He isn’t alone anymore, he can relax.  
  
_Richie’s room is familiar, Eddie’s been here more often than he’d probably like to admit. The floor is covered in dirty laundry (even underwear, which Richie _should _be embarrassed by, but doesn’t really care about) and his wall has various rock band posters thrown all around. It seems that quantity is the goal here, rather than quality, because some posters even overlap. Looking at them, Eddie can almost _see _Richie hanging them up, a childish eagerness encouraging him to place as many as possible, with no consideration for their decorative purposes. It isn’t a particularly beautiful place, but it feels like home- maybe even a second bedroom to Eddie, although if it actually _was _his room, it’d be _much nicer.   
  
_Richie sinks next to Eddie on his bed and watches his face carefully.  
  
“Nightmares?”  
  
“I thought I saw _It_. In my room.” Eddie simply states, shivering at the memory. He has to nervously look around Richie’s room for a moment, because he’s afraid that even _mentioning _what he _swears he had seen_ would bring it back. He can feel panic stir in his stomach, but then he looks in to Richie’s big, soft, goofy eyes and feels better.  
  
Richie nods, showing that he’s been listening, and looks at his hands. It’s unusual, almost even eerie, because he’s hardly ever quiet. Eddie waits anyway, lets the uncomfortable silence linger between them, because he knows that if he speaks, Richie will allow the conversation to touch something more trivial and let whatever it is he’s worried about disappear forever. He wants to hear what he has to say, because he genuinely looks like he needs to let it out, so Eddie gives him a gentle smile to encourage him.   
  
“Me too,” Richie finally whispers “_It _walked towards me… Reached down to my wrist. When it touched me, I swear I could _feel_ it…” He gulps shakily and laughs a breathy kind of laugh “I must be going crazy.” Eddie shuffles closer to Richie, knocks his shoulders against his, and looks at him reassuringly. He’s scared (_hell, _he’s terrified) and he knows that his friend feels the same way, but they’re both glad to have the company.  
  
“We should watch a movie.” He offers as a distraction. And it seems to do the trick because, in no time, Richie is on his feet and back to normal. He walks back and forth, rambling about the options he has to watch and why he likes them, and tweaks his glasses whenever he looks at Eddie. And it’s _normal. _It’s so ordinary that he feels safe, and safety is something he will hold close to him whenever he gets it.

  
Whenever Eddie got scared, or Richie saw _It_, from then on, they watched movies. They listened to each other’s nightmares, nodding all the while, and reassured one another that nothing bad would happen as long as they were together. Eddie would never admit it, but it was Richie who kept him sane the rest of that summer.

* * *

Slowly, the cut on Eddie’s hand scabs then scars, looking ugly and pink at the edges. Sometimes, Eddie catches himself staring at it, thumbing over his palm to curiously examine the raises of his flesh. He’ll look at it, and laugh at the thought of it always being there for the rest of his life. What will he tell his wife when he’s older? _‘Hey honey? How’d you get that scar?’ ‘Oh, this? I just fought a killer clown with my friends, is all. Funnily enough, that’s not even how I got it! Nope, my friend Bill actually cut open my hand with a filthy coke bottle, even though I’m terrified of germs. I held Richie and Mike’s bloody hands and we made a promise to kill the clown if it started murdering kids again! Funny, huh? Anyway, how did you get that little nick above your eyebrow?’   
  
_“Yours looks so much better than mine, Eds,” Richie cries, pulling Eddie out of his train of thought. They’re in the cafeteria, its lunch time and he had been rubbing back and forth over his scar again. Richie has his hand held up to show off his matching mark, but it’s so close to Eddie’s face that his vision is blurring and all he can see is a fuzzy, flesh coloured patch.  
  
“I think my hand is mutating.” Richie continues. Eddie scrunches up his nose and takes Richie wrist so he can pull his hand far enough away for him to _actually see what he’s talking about. _The line on his friend’s palm is smooth in some spots, but scabby, red and irritated in others. Eddie sighs.  
  
“It looks like that because you keep picking at it, you’ll get an infection if you’re not careful.” Richie groans back at him.  
  
“But what am I supposed to do when I’m bored if I can’t pick at it?”  
  
“Literally anything else.” Stanley replies from across the table, picking up a lettuce leaf with his fork.  
  
“Scar check!” Richie screams through the loud cafeteria, catching nearby people’s attention. Eddie immediately ducks his face in his hands, embarrassed.  
  
Richie has been doing this ever since school started. He’ll call out ‘scar check!’ in the middle of class, mid-conversation, when they’re biking to school… basically at any time, really. Eddie at first thought that Richie was just curious, that he wanted to see how everyone’s palms were looking, but he’s quickly learnt that this isn’t the case. When he isn’t calling ‘scar check!’, Richie’s showing anyone who will look.  
  
“Hey, have you seen my gnarly scar?” He’ll ask, pulling his hand out of his pocket. “Eddie and I match!” He adds, beaming and grabbing at Eddie’s wrist to display the scar across his palm, too.  
  
It’s _weird _and people around school are starting to think the group had formed some sort of cult, since they all have one long, jagged cut on the same hand. Richie, being the dumbass he is, thinks the rumors are cool, and he humors them, telling anyone with a working pair of ears a different story. He’ll tell one person that Henry Bowers lined them up and cut their hands before going to the asylum, while another person will hear that they did it as a sex thing. _A sex thing.   
  
_Eddie _hates _it. He hates how everyone whispers about them, frowning whenever they pass in the halls. He isn’t even sure how to defend himself and deflect all the rumors, because he _has to admit _that it probably does look weird (And Richie adding fuel to the fire isn’t any help, either).  
  
So there the losers are, being stared at from every possible direction, with their hands face up on the table, because they’ve unintentionally created a hidden rule that everyone _has _to show their scar whenever Richie screams ‘scar check!’, regardless of the circumstance. Eddie is going red at the ears, worried that people are talking about them. Bill smiles at him, noticing his nerves.  
  
“D-d-don’t worry, Eddie. No one c-c-cares.” He offers a reassuring smile and somehow, that seems to help Eddie snap back to reality. He might be pent up about it, but no one actually cares that much. And if they _are _interested, they won’t a few weeks from now, when a cooler, more interesting story pops up. Because here’s the thing about high school: Gossip travels fast, but it doesn’t last very long.  
  
Eddie smiles back at Bill, placing his hand on the table and peering over at everyone’s palms.

Richie might only ever call ‘scar check!’ for attention, but Eddie is _actually _interested in how everyone’s hands are looking. Richie’s scar is, by far, the worst. But that was really his fault for refusing to let it heal. Bill had the biggest scar. Its healing well, but his skin is bright red all around. Eddie can tell, just by looking, that it’ll become one of those scars that stay red and angry forever. It’s probably because Bill had cut himself, and it’s easier to gauge how deep is _too deep_ on yourself than anyone else. Stanley’s scar looks pretty similar to Eddie’s: meaning that he has _actually_ been looking after it. Both of their palms sport a thinner line, which suggests that their scars will be far more faded than the others’ with time. Beverly’s hand still has scabs at the bottom of where the scar runs, probably because she likes to run around whenever they’re at The Barrens and play with rocks. Ben’s hand is somewhere between everyone else’s, looking healthy but still relatively deep. Eddie can’t help but wonder what Mike’s palm looks like, but he has no way of knowing, since he doesn’t go to school.  
  
Eventually, the losers tuck their hands back in to their pockets. Richie turns to Eddie abruptly and grins wide at him, the corner of his lips spreading from ear to ear. 

“Put your hand up.”  
  
“Why?” Eddie frowns with confusion.  
  
“C’mon, Eds. Just do it.” He wonders if Richie is trying to pull a stupid prank on him, but he seems so genuinely excited that Eddie figures it’ll be worth it, so he holds his hand in front of his friend.   
  
“Don’t call me Eds.” He grumbles. Richie ignores him anyway and smiles wider (if that’s even possible), placing his palm flush against Eddie’s, their scars pressing against one another. _It’s almost like holding hands_, Eddie thinks, _except their fingers aren’t linked_. After a few seconds, Eddie has to pull away though, because Richie’s hand is really sweaty and the thought of their sweat mingling is starting to make his stomach churn.  
  
“What was the point of that?” He asks, wiping his wet palm on his shorts. Richie shrugs, pulling his own hand in to his lap.   
  
“Thought it could be our thing.” He replies, turning back to his lunch and taking a hearty bite in to a soggy jam sandwich (it’s a wonder how Richie is even alive, with half of the junk he eats). Eddie looks at his hand and studies his scar. He likes the sound of that. _Their thing. Richie and Eddie’s thing.   
  
_He’s never shared _thing _with anyone else before, and the thought of that makes him dizzy with joy.

* * *

The losers only grow closer as the year continues, the events of last summer fueling their friendship. It doesn’t take long until they’ve formed a routine, meeting up after school every Friday. And it doesn’t seem to matter if all of them can make it or not, because at least one loser would be able to come over, and hanging out is always fun, even if it’s just with one person. But Eddie _does _have to admit that it’s always better when everyone can come, especially when Mike shows up, because they don’t really get to see him on any other day since he’s home-schooled.  
  
Eddie feels a little left out on most Fridays, because he’s the least likely to show up. But sometimes, if he’s _really good_ at convincing his mom (and lies a little bit: ‘_It’s just Bill, ma! No one else, I promise. No, mom, Richie won’t be there.) _he can go.  
  
The location changes sometimes, but Bill’s house very quickly becomes a preferred meet up spot. It makes sense to Eddie, because he’s the unspoken leader of the group and his parents don’t seem to care if the house is busy or empty. He’s always found that strange, it isn’t something he really understands. All his life, Eddie has been monitored. He can’t do _anything _without permission (and a lifetime’s worth of pills stocked up with him); having friends over is an absolute no-go. Eddie kind of thinks that Bill is lucky to have such relaxed parents, he’d give anything to have that much freedom.

  
“Momma?” Eddie asks, shuffling on the spot. Slowly, his mother’s gaze moves from the TV to his face. She looks bored and tired, but there’s a hint of underlying _worry _on her face, too.  
  
“What’s wrong, Eddie?” _What’s wrong? _It’s almost like a standard greeting for her. ‘_Hello Eddie’, ‘Good morning’, ‘Nice to see you’, ‘What’s wrong?’. _She _always _assumes that something is wrong.  
  
“Could I sleep over at Bill’s tonight?”  
  
“But Eddie, you were there last week.”  
  
“I know, mommy.”  
  
“I don’t want you out two weeks in a row, it worries me. You know how I worry, Eddie.” Eddie sighs, looking at his mother sympathetically. He really doesn’t want her to worry.  
  
“I know.” His mom stares at him, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.  
  
“Have you been taking your pills?”  
  
“Every day.” Eddie smiles, tapping the fanny pack secured on his waist for good measure. This is true, Eddie _has _been taking his pills, even though they’re fake, because it set his mother at ease. If Eddie’s being entirely honest, he sometimes takes them for himself, too, but he doesn’t really want to think about that. He likes to imagine that he’s over it, that he could dump out the pills any day now and feel _fine.   
  
_“What will you eat there?” _Pizza, probably.  
  
_“Broccoli and beans, ma.”  
  
“And meat? You know how you get, Eddie, with your low-iron levels.” Eddie nods. Even though he knows that he’s fine, he isn’t actually iron- deficient, he notices a weird tang pass through his arms, as if he can _feel _his blood weakly travelling up his body.  
  
“I know, ma.” She smiles at him sweetly. And even though that look makes his stomach churn, Eddie smiles back, because he really does love his mother.  
  
“Make sure you’re home tomorrow before lunch.”  
  
“Thank you so much, mommy.” Eddie gives his mom a kiss on the cheek, turning to leave, when she interrupts him.  
  
“Eddie, I’m only doing this because that poor Denbrough kid lost his brother,” Eddie notices a twinkle in her eye, and he knows in that moment that she’s thinking about his dad “that Tozier boy won’t be there, will he? Or that red haired… minx.” Eddie flinches at her words, but bites his tongue. _Minx.   
  
_“Just Bill and Stanley.” His mom is pretty much sold with that, because she actually _likes _Stanley. Granted, it isn’t because of his personality (it’s because he’s Jewish), but it works like a charm anyway. His mom nods, and Eddie skips out of the house happily, trying to ignore what his mom had said about Beverly as he rides his bike, because he doesn’t want to believe that she _actually _meant it. 

“Eddie spaghetti!” Richie cries, noticing Eddie as soon as he walks in the room. His friend immediately shuffles across the couch to make room. Eddie smiles and greets everyone before plopping himself beside the other boy. The TV isn’t on, since everyone has settled on talking through the night instead. Mike is with them this time, which makes everyone excited and _especially _talkative. Talking to him has always been interesting to them, because his lifestyle seems so foreign.  
  
“How’s the farm doing?” Ben asks curiously.  
  
“I’ve been delivering a lot of meat recently, but papa thinks that I’ll be able to take over the farm and start handling the animals soon. Next year, hopefully.” Mike is beaming with pride, clearly passionate about this. Eddie has never really been around farm animals before, his mom would have an _aneurism _if he ever was, so he is extremely interested in what Mike has to say.  
  
“What does that mean?” He asks, flashing a polite and kind smile at Mike.  
  
“Milking cows, making sure the animals are well fed, those kinds of things. I’m excited to do some more serious work, stop running errands around town.”   
  
“That sounds really great, Mike.” Beverly muses. Eddie nods, agreeing with her. He probably stares at her for a moment too long, though, because something catches his eye and before he can think, Eddie is looking down. She’s wearing a red, pleated skirt, which has managed to ride up her leg, displaying a big, blue bruise near her hip. Richie elbows Eddie subtly, winking at him.  
  
“Quit having the hots for Bev, you perv.” He leans over to whisper in his ear. Eddie sighs and shakes his head, honestly kind of annoyed by those implications. Eddie was _not _checking Beverly out and he definitely doesn’t ‘_have the hots for her’_.  
  
“No, the bruise.” He replies. Richie cocks his brow, and looks back at Beverly’s leg, shooting Eddie a look afterwards.   
  
“Oh…” He mouths.  
  
“Yeah.” Eddie whispers back, equally as shocked. They don’t talk about it afterwards, or discuss it anymore. It wouldn’t be unusual if Beverly had just fallen over, and Eddie reasons that it probably _is _just that. Besides, they’re too young to worry about these things, or mull over them.

The night begins to wind down and the losers find themselves settled on an array of blow up mattresses that Bill had found in his garage. There’s only enough for a few guests, so Beverly and Bill decide to share one of the couches while Richie and Eddie take the other one.  
  
It might be 1 or 2 am, Eddie isn’t sure. All he knows is that he _can’t sleep. _He’s spent the whole night sitting upright and listening to his friend’s snoring, entertaining himself with his thoughts. That seems to be fine enough for a few hours, but Eddie is _jittery _now, incredibly bored. Eddie sighs loudly, a sound of discontent, and feels something reach for his hand. His initial reaction is to recoil and yelp, but he suddenly feels a palm against his. He notices a raise in the other person’s flesh pressed against his scar, and he pretty much immediately knows that Richie is touching him. Smiling in the darkness, Eddie takes his hand back in to his lap.   
  
“Can’t sleep?” Richie tiredly murmurs, wiping his sleepy eyes. Eddie can only _just_ make out the outline of his face.  
  
“Bored.” He whispers a reply, trying his best not to wake anyone up. Richie tuts thoughtfully.  
  
“Come for a walk with me.”  
  
“It’s cold.” Eddie scrunches up his nose in a distasteful manner. Richie responds by puffing out air in a half-laugh, already standing on his tiptoes and navigating around the room.  
  
“Just a short walk, so we get tired.” He watches as Richie heads towards the front door, completely bare-footed.  
  
“If I get a cold, it’s your fault.” Eddie retorts. But he’s already following Richie outside.

Richie begins to walk out on the street, but Eddie refuses to leave the property without shoes on. So, instead, they sit by the front door, talking outside so they don’t disturb anyone’s rest.  
  
“So, what’s happening up in Spaghetti land?” Richie pulls the grass from the law and tosses the dismembered vegetation out in front of him, reaching down to do the same again.  
  
“Quit tearing up the lawn, would you?” Richie rolls his eyes, a subtle complaint, but stops anyway.  
  
“It’s not like it’s been mowed in a while, I’m probably doing them a favor.” Richie has a point. The Denbrough’s used to have such a nice, well-kept lawn (Bill had one of the nicer houses of his friends). But now, the grass grows wildly, desperate for a trim. _Probably because they’re too sad to mow, _Eddie thinks. He quickly pushes that away, though, because thinking about Georgie still makes his heart heavy.  
  
“You’re hopeless.” Eddie replies instead, shaking his head.  
  
“And you’re cute, funny how the world works,” Eddie kicks at Richie’s legs disapprovingly, which causes him to chuckle under his breath “You still haven’t answered my question.”  
  
“What question?”  
  
“How’re you doing, Eds? What’s been happening in your life?”  
  
“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie snaps back faster than the speed of light. Richie raises his hands in surrender jokingly. Eddie considers Richie’s question, but finds that he’s unsure what to say; overall, his life is pretty boring, nothing interesting to note. “Homework’s a bitch.” He says instead, shrugging.  
  
“I mean with your mom.” _Oh.  
  
_“Fine, I guess.” Eddie replies, suddenly wishing that Richie was busy tearing up the lawn instead, because this is something he doesn’t really want to talk about. The truth is that he isn’t sure what to say. It’s not that he has _nothing _to discuss, but more that he’s too confused to put everything in to words. It’s true, things are fine. He loves his mom and, sure, he’s a little overbearing sometimes, but she means well. Like, yeah, he _did _stand up to his mom and it ultimately made no difference because he just went back to taking fifty pills a day like it’s nothing, but still. Things are _fine_.  
  
“Fine?” Richie echoes in a doubtful voice, as if reading his mind. Eddie huffs out a frustrated noise.  
  
“What’re you getting at, Rich?” He doesn’t mean to sound annoyed or angry, but he figures that he had anyway, because Richie is shooting back a defensive, somewhat hurt, look.  
  
“I’m just worried is all, jeez.”  
  
“Well, don’t worry.” Eddie responds, crossing his arms pensively. His mom is bad enough, always prying him for information. He doesn’t need Richie to start at it too.  
  
“Sorry.” Richie whispers, kicking his legs sheepishly as if he’s been caught doing something abhorrent, like stealing or drowning kittens.  
  
“It’s fine,” Eddie mutters in the cold air, his anger subsiding. Something about seeing his friend bashful and upset undoes the little knot in his chest “What about you?” Richie laughs, shaking his head and watching the way his breath prints in the air.   
  
“Not fine.” He responds, eyes lifeless through his glasses.  
  
“You can tell me, y’know.” Eddie offers, shuffling closer in an effort to comfort him.  
  
But here’s the thing: Eddie and Richie hung out _all the time_ before _It, _they would have sleepovers and they watch movies and do all the things best friends do, but they weren’t really that close like _that_, because they didn’t really _need _to talk about things. This is new territory for Eddie, because Richie being emotional is strange and unusual and _weird. _Richie never tells Eddie things, never expresses his feelings unless its some level of manic happiness, never sits quietly outside Bill’s house and kicks his feet. Yet, there he is; the words ‘not fine’ lingering in the air. Eddie can’t help but worry, watching the way Richie scratches his arm as if it’s a tick he’s had for years. Talking about serious topics leaves a strange taste in his mouth, but he’ll listen anyway, because he doesn’t want Richie to be sad, doesn’t want him to feel alone.  
  
“My parents don’t really like me, I guess. They don’t even care to pay attention to me.” Eddie frowns to himself, thinking back to the times he’s been around Richie’s parents. He’s never noticed this before- Mr. and Mrs. Tozier have always seemed nice enough whenever Eddie came over. They usually gave the two boys space. Sure, the house was usually empty, and the boys had to make their own dinner most nights, but that was just _normal _for the Tozier household.  
  
Eddie isn’t sure how to react, what to say. It feels like his eyes are being opened to a new, surreal world. He’s looking at a different version of Richie, admittedly a version he doesn’t like to see; he’s usually all laugh and all joke.  
  
“Yeah?” Eddie asks instead, hoping that’s enough to keep Richie talking. He stares at the ground and frowns, eyebrows knitted together tightly.  
  
“Yeah. I don’t know, they just don’t really _care…_” Richie shrugs, seemingly shriveling in on himself as he slowly begins to regret talking. Then, rather suddenly, as if they weren’t just talking about his family life and insecurities, he jumps up and stretches his arms before dramatically placing them on his hips. “We’d better get you to bed before you pass out, sweet little Eddie.” Richie grins and mocks a motherly tone of voice. Eddie simply stares and blinks, wondering if it’s possible to have whiplash after witnessing the extreme change in tone of conversation. He laughs it off and shakes his head, because he’s honestly a little _too tired _to deal with anything other than normal.  
  
“I’m not a baby, Rich.”  
  
“Oh, but you are as _cute _as one, Eds.”


	2. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is fifteen, and everyone seems to be growing up much faster than him. The Losers are changing, both physically and mentally, while he's stuck in his childish body. What's worse is the constant talk of girls, which he just can't seem to understand. 
> 
> At least Richie is here for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
This chapter starts off with underage drinking and there is some homophobic language closer to the end. Mentions of abuse in regards to Beverly Marsh's dad.

All of the losers have begun to change, and Eddie can’t help but notice how _behind _he is.

Bill’s jaw is broader, sharper and sometimes he complains about having to shave, which seems to Eddie like more of a good thing than a bad thing, because needing to shave means that you’re becoming a grown up, which, in turn, means that you’re getting handsome.  
  
Beverly’s changing, too. She looks prettier in a distinctively adult and womanly way: like Meryl Streep or Princess Diana. Sometimes Richie points it out, because he can’t seem to resist himself. He’ll elbow Eddie and whisper “_Look at the size of Bev’s rack!” _, as if mentioning this kind of thing is as harmless as breathing. Eddie makes sure to elbow him back twice as hard, because it isn’t very nice to say that. Usually, that warrants a snorting response and an eye roll, followed by a comment towards Beverly like ‘_Isn’t that right, Bev? Your tits are bigger than Venus.’ _Beverly doesn’t hesitate to kick at Richie’s shins, but she laughs none-the-less, because she isn’t the type of girl to care about or get offended over those things; Richie is mostly harmless, despite being a pain in the ass.

Ben and Mike have been going on morning jogs together, and it shows. The weight on Ben has begun to tick off and redistribute, even turning in to muscle in some places. Meanwhile, the walks combined with his new position at the farm (and the intensive labor he has to do as a result of that) have given Mike a similarly a _manly _appearance. His shoulders have broadened, arms strengthening.  
  
Stanley’s changes are more emotional- he does his homework twice as much and _actively strives _for higher grades, often lecturing the losers for being too loud during lunch time. ‘_Some people actually want a good future._’ He’d note, nose deep in a textbook. ‘_Okay, party pooper.’ _Richie would complain, while Beverly would laugh and say ‘_It’s lunchtime, Stan. Take a break._’ Sometimes, he gives in and joins the conversation. Other times, he simply scoops his books in his arms and wonders off to the library, muttering ‘_You guys are impossible’ _as he leaves. Stanley has become somewhere so close to _adult _that’s its jarring. Sure, he’s always been more mature than the losers, but he doesn’t seem so afraid anymore. There’s a grownup sternness to him, a bravery that comes from hard work and a knowledge about taxes.   
  
Richie has skyrocketed in height- when they were younger, he was pretty average, but he’s since gained on Bill, a few inches taller than him already, and he towers over Eddie like a stupid, annoying giant with an inflated ego. His body is awkward and gangly- he’s all limbs. During summer, his dad had forced him to get braces (much to his dismay), and it only adds to the awkwardness of his appearance. He changes the colour of the bands in his braces often, jumping from one ridiculous colour to another as easily as one might change clothes. Sometimes, he complains about the wires poking at his cheeks dramatically, but Eddie simply rolls his eyes in response because _aww, poor little Richie can’t handle braces._

And all this change is fine, of course it is. But Eddie can’t help to feel frustrated, annoyed with himself _and_ his stupid body. He hasn’t changed noticeably _at all_, save for an annoying and squeaky voice that appeared one day and decided to stay since. His chubby cheeks refuse to disappear: he looks like a baby, and the childish freckles splattered across his nose are no help. He complained about it to Richie during the summer, which caused him to pinch his cheeks and tease him: ‘_Naw, Eds. I wouldn’t change it for anything, you look so cute with your little freckles!’ _That was enough for him to bite the bullet and dip in to his mom’s makeup supply, learning how to carefully apply foundation to his nose. It hasn’t hidden the dots yet, but it certainly subdues them, and that’s enough to keep Richie from pinching him and exclaiming that the ‘_stars on his face are adorable!’_ If wearing makeup will keep embarrassment at bay, he’ll use it.

* * *

On the first Friday of that school year, the losers met up at Bill’s house. Fifteen is a giant leap from fourteen, and their growing bodies are certainly evidence of this. With everyone just generally taller and bigger (except for Eddie, but no one mentions that because they know they’ll probably lose their kneecaps if they do), Bill’s small living room has become too crowded and stifling for them to run amok. So, instead, they settle in his backyard, lying across the lawn or, if you’re Eddie (who refuses to sit on the floor, because for the love of _God, _do they not realise how many disease carrying bugs could be rustling in the grass?) or Stanley (who, once again, refuses to sit on dirt, but in this case because his pants have been crisply ironed and he ‘_isn’t about to ruin them just to seem cool- filth isn’t cool.’_) one of the only plastic, white lawn chairs available.  
  
Richie strolls across the grass some fifteen minutes later, one hand casually thrown in his jean pocket, and another held on to his bike’s handlebars as he walks it. A cheeky grin is spread across his face, and Eddie very quickly realizes why he sports this look when he notices a box hanging off the handle furthest away from him, full of beer.  
  
“I bring alcohol!” He cheers, grabbing at the box and throwing his bike lazily to the floor, causing it to make a dull _ring _sound when the bell hits the ground. He places the pack in the middle of the group and Beverly whoops and cheers as she shuffles forward to tear the box open. Richie snorts, grabs his own can, and settles on the floor beside Eddie, cracking it open with a satisfying _fizzle. _Eddie frowns back at his grin while Beverly throws a can behind her for Bill and takes her own.  
  
“Should you _really _be drinking?” Richie snorts, shuffling on his knees to tap at Eddie’s nose with a long, slender index finger.  
  
“Nope!” He cheers, as if underage drinking is something worth celebrating, before gulping down his beverage heartily. Eddie watches as his Adam’s apple bobs, thinking nothing of the way his mouth goes dry, choosing to instead roll his eyes disapprovingly.  
  
“Eddie has a point, guys. This is _illegal._” Stanley chimes in, his voice thick with an adult sensibility. He whispers the last word carefully, as if he expects Bill’s parents to open their bedroom window and scream across the yard that they’re going to ring their parents. They won’t, though, because they don’t seem to mind what the losers do as long as they do it _quietly _(tell Richie that, though. He couldn’t do anything quietly if he tried.)  
  
“Y-you don’t h-have to t-t-take any if you d-d-don’t want to.” Bill smiles at Stan, carefully sipping at his can in a very Bill kind of way: powerfully and confidently. Eddie peers over cautiously, as if merely looking at alcohol is illegal, and counts how many Richie has brought. Only 6 cans, enough for one each minus a loser. Eddie stares down at the beverages and a morbid intrigue fills him. He considers taking one, since removing a can is a surefire way of keeping the rest of his friends from getting drunk off one too many, but thinks immediately against it when a warning, frightening voice (a voice that sounds a _lot _like his mother) calls ‘_You’ll damage your liver, Eddie. You’ll damage your liver until it’s a rotten, mushy mix of sludge. Then, you’ll die.’_ He gulps, nervously laughing, and instead watches Ben and Mike distribute a couple of cans amid themselves. They sip at them carefully, testing the waters, and clearly decide the stuff isn’t so bad, because they both continue to drink once they’ve had a taste. They’re responsible, though, unlike Beverly and Richie, who have already downed a can each with a childish, rash kind of indulgence. Eddie sighs and looks to Stan. He looks back. Their lips tighten and their expressions mirror each other when they nod: _A secret agreement to stay sober. _ Eddie hears a _crunch _to his right, a sound that reminds him of someone biting down on an apple, then feels something whack at his temple. Immediately, he rubs the spot, which stings and tickles lightly, turning to Richie who’s giving him a shit eating grin.

“Did you seriously just…” Richie snorts against his hand, eyes screwed tight in amusement. “Richie! That could’ve split my head open!” He complains. It’s a fair point, a can screwed in to a tight, metal ball could do some serious damage.  
  
“I _lightly _threw it.” He offers defensively. Eddie huffs.  
  
“I can’t _believe you_, what if I lost an eye-“ Richie giggles, turning as Eddie talks to look in front of him. Just as Eddie’s about to get to the part where he says ‘_I would’ve gone to the E.R. Mom would’ve had me in there for weeks, you idiot.’, _he gasps, cutting him off.

“Calm down guys, we don’t need an _orgy _in the backyard!” He whoops, grinning. Eddie follows Richie’s gaze curiously, discovering something which is, in his opinion, utterly obscene. Beverly is sitting in Bill’s lap, her hands are cupped around his face, and they’re kissing drunkly. He feels his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment, and he had to turn away because there’s something inherently weird about watching your friends kiss or do anything like that. “Get some, Bev!” Richie continues. Beverly flips him off from behind her back, unrelenting. Just as this interaction takes place, Eddie notices Ben. He’s looking at the ground wetly, uncomfortably, his furrowed eyebrows a giveaway of the internal struggle he’s having. Suddenly, he stands.  
  
“I need to pee.” He mutters, more to himself than anyone else, before walking away. Eddie feels his heart sink, watching him leave like that. It isn’t really a secret that he’s had a thing for Beverly for a long while now. He can’t help but feel bad for him. He thinks about getting up and chasing him, but he’s beaten to it. Mike rises with a sigh and trudges towards the house shortly after. Eddie supposes that’s probably for the best, because he wouldn’t know what to say, but Mike probably does: he and Ben have been getting closer and closer since spending more time together.  
  
“When’s the wedding?” Richie asks, still watching their friends kiss pointedly. Stanley makes a sound that’s somewhere between a dry heave and a comical ‘_ew_’ before sliding off his lawn chair.  
  
“I’m happy for you guys, but this is just gross.” He comments, before stiffly and briskly wondering away, leaving just Eddie and Richie outside. Richie turns over to Eddie and smiles at him, as if their friends definitely aren’t making out a few feet from them.  
  
“Touch my cheeks,” He starts, patting his face gently “They’re hot.” Eddie rolls his eyes.  
  
“Because you’re drunk.”  
  
“Not drunk, Eds. Tipsy.”  
  
“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie mutters, leaning in to press his hand against Richie’s cheekbones. He feels himself flush at the warmth of his skin, the way the heat radiates from his friend to his fingertips. Eddie forces himself to swallow and nods in confirmation. He goes to speak when a soft exhale, something halfway between a moan and a whimper, reaches his ears and Eddie suddenly realizes that _they have to get out of here right now. _Rather suddenly, he stands.  
  
“Right, that’s it. Let’s leave.” Richie snorts at Eddie, leaning back on his hands.  
  
“What, don’t want to watch Beverly and Bill fuck?”  
  
“Fuck you, Richie!” Beverly screams between kisses.  
  
“_Please_. Eddie, how does a foursome sound to you?” Eddie wrinkles his nose and crosses his arms.  
  
“Get up.” Richie laughs, but complies anyway, because even a freak like _him _can’t stand watching two people make out. Before they head inside, he rushes to the beer cans and grabs the last one, joining Eddie just before he pops the tab open. Eddie makes sure to smack the can across the lawn as fast as he can, taking Richie’s hand instead.  
  
“Eds!” He complains. Eddie huffs in response, racing both of them towards the living room before things got out of hand. He wasn’t about to sit outside uncomfortably _all night long. _

The two boys find themselves sprawled across the couch, listening to Ben, Mike and Stanley’s muffled talking. They’re all heaped in the bathroom, he knows that much, and their voices seem somber, contemplative.  
  
“Sounds tense, huh?” Richie comments, kicking his feet in to Eddie’s lap. Eddie immediately pushes them off because _gross_. He sighs and listens again to the quiet, hushed tones of his friends.  
  
“Poor Ben.” Yes, poor Ben. He’s never really had a crush on anyone before, but Eddie thinks that must hurt. From what he’s seen in those crappy, sappy romance movies, it _does _suck. But he knows that this is something he will soon revive from, because Ben has probably already prepared for this and considered this outcome. It just _makes sense, _Beverly and Bill. She’s the only girl in the group, and Bill’s the leader. He’s handsome, confident, sure and strong and he gets what he wants before the rest of them because _that’s just how it works. _Not to say that Eddie ever liked Beverly like that. But if he did, _he _would give up. Then again, the idea of liking her is so far away that he isn’t sure if that’s true or not. So yeah, poor Ben.  
  
Richie interrupts Eddie’s thoughts by kicking his feet back on his lap casually, one leg crossed over the other as if that is in any way, shape or form _okay. _  
  
“Get your filthy feet off of me.” Eddie spits, holding his hands up so that whatever gross diseases Richie has doesn’t somehow infect him, too.  
  
“I’d rather not.” Richie replies, yawning casually. Not to be dramatic of anything, but Eddie is pretty sure he can _smell _his feet, and he smells like absolute shit.  
  
“So help me, Richie, I will grind a hacksaw through your ankles.” He responds bitterly, shooting Richie a stern look. He watches how his eyes widen and his mouth hangs open, letting out a satisfied ‘_humph’ _when he slowly moves to cross his legs instead.  
  
“You’re scary when you’re mad. Scary, but cute.” He winks at Eddie. In response, he sticks his tongue out.  
  
“I am _not _cute.”  
  
“I just think it’s strange,” Richie continues contemplatively, mouth moving at a million miles an hour “that you don’t find my little toesies sexy. I mean, don’t foot fetishes run in the family or something? Because your mom-“  
  
“Beep, _fucking _Beep, Richie.” Eddie spits, a playful annoyance painted across his face. He notices the way Richie’s lips curl in to a tight smile.   
  
“Do you think you’d get a girlfriend?” Richie asks instead. The question is random, sudden and completely unprompted.  
  
“Where did that come from?” He asks back. Richie shrugs.  
  
“Just, with Bev and Bill and everything. Do you think you would?” He asks again. Eddie isn’t sure what to say, because he hasn’t ever really thought about it before.  
  
“I don’t know.” He simply says instead.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Do you?” Eddie watches as Richie ponders his question for a moment, before a bright smile spreads across his face.  
  
“Well, I already get all the puss-“

“Forget I asked!” Eddie cries hurriedly, turning red. _Gross. _Richie laughs and kicks at Eddie’s leg playfully. The feeling lingers there for a while afterwards: a comforting kind of pressure that makes his heart race. “Should I want one?” Eddie questions, perhaps a little too timidly for his liking.  
  
It’s a fair enough question, because he isn’t sure. To be entirely honest, he’s felt more and more like an outsider with his friends. The group _has _been talking about girls more, and he doesn’t really understand the fascination. Sometimes, they joke about girls ‘_Katie Morris is hot!’ _and sex ‘_I’d put my dick in anything!’, _but especially _sex with girls _‘_Especially in Katie Morris!’ _and he doesn’t get it, really. In fact, it doesn’t sit right with him at all. Of course, there’s the guilty feeling that plagues him deep in his gut, the feeling of shame for thinking about anyone else in that way. But there’s also a grimy layer of disgust there, too. Thinking about boobs and ‘coochies’, as Richie calls them, doesn’t sit right, as if something hasn’t quite clicked. He supposes that’s because he’s so behind on puberty. _Hell, _he hasn’t grown much yet, so would it really be a surprise if his libido is just coming in late, too? It’s a mostly innocent question, Eddie thinks. Because he _does _want to know. _Should he want a girlfriend? _He supposes that if that’s what he’s supposed to do, he can try harder. He could try to think about Katie Morris, too, even if he feels a little queasy whenever he imagines her, or any other girl for that matter, naked. _Sure, _he could try. If he was supposed to be wanting a girlfriend, Eddie could try to pay more attention.  
  
“You shouldn’t have to want anything you don’t want.” Richie replies, in a surprisingly wise and clever kind of way that is hilariously un-Richie. It’s a good answer. Really, it is. Eddie shrugs, because he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say in response to such wisdom, and turns to Richie. He’s _much closer _now, somehow he’s managed to shuffle towards Eddie while he was thinking. His eyes are twinkling, he’s studying Eddie carefully. It’s enough to send a blush right across his cheeks from embarrassment. Being watched like this sends shockwaves right down to his toes. Eddie offers a nervous smile to Richie, who smiles back twice as brightly. He’s always been good at that: smiling. Eddie gulps and points out the bright orange bands in his braces to distract himself from his beating heart.

“Why’d you pick that colour?” He asks, gesturing towards his mouth. Richie grins wider, showing off their colour whilst warning Eddie that a joke is on its way. 

“It’s your mom’s favorite.”

“Oh my GOD, Richie!”

* * *

“Eddieeeee!” Eddie sighs, wincing at his mother’s shrill voice, and whips his head through his bedroom door (which has to be open _at all times_, in case he’s having an epileptic fit. ‘_What if you spasm while the door’s closed, Eddie? What if you’re dying and I have no way to tell?_’).  
  
“Yeah?” His voice drifts across the empty hall.  
  
“Your friend is here, that _Tozier _boy.” Eddie sighs and walks towards his mother, frowning a little. He isn’t sure why Richie’s here so _early._ He had agreed to walk him to the library for their study session, but this isn’t part of the plan. Eddie thinks that maybe he read his clock wrong and 12.00 somehow looked like 1.00 instead. He supposes he’ll just have to tell Richie to head back home, or maybe suggest they leave together early. All he knows is that they can’t exactly haul up in his room and wait, because there’s an unwritten rule in the Kaspbrak household (a rule which has only emerged this year) that boys, particularly _that Tozier boy, _aren’t allowed inside, in case they ‘_taint the home’, _or whatever. Eddie considers these things as he makes his way downstairs. He notices his mother’s large figure hovering by the front door, completely blocking his view of Richie.  
  
“I’m here, mom.” He offers, smiling gently. His mom turns around, but she isn’t exactly who he’s looking at. Eddie’s eyes immediately flitter to Richie the moment he’s in view, a habit he’s developed through the years because he’s so loud that even his _presence _demands attention. Eddie goes to pull a face, something between feigned annoyance and playful anger, when their eyes connect and his heart sinks. Richie’s hair is tousled (more than usual), his eyes are puffy, and his cheeks are wet with _tears. _He looks so un-Richie that it’s shocking, enough to send waves of panic over Eddie. He can faintly hear his mother talking, but that isn’t exactly what he’s focusing on, now that he’s seeing Richie cry (or, at least, the aftermath of a really good crying session) for the first time. He cuts his mom off, because her distant whining probably contains _some _waffle about how _‘that Tozier boy’ _is a bad influence and yada yada, probably going on about stuff that his friend doesn’t _really _need to listen to at the moment.  
  
“Sorry ma, I forgot to tell you that he’d be coming over before we left.” He lies with such a careless bother that it’s almost hilarious. Usually, he has to think really hard about lying to his mom, has to rationalize his reasoning in his head in order to feel in some way _moral_, but the words roll off tongue as if it’s nothing. He spares his mother a glance, ignoring the way her face screams_ ‘Boys aren’t allowed inside_’. Whatever, he’ll take a lecturing later. Richie’s upset and that’s all that really matters to him.  
  
“I want your door _open._” She utters, a tense breath escaping her tight jaw as she wriggles past Eddie to sit back in front of the TV. Eddie keeps his eyes locked on Richie, who’s staring somewhere slightly to his left. He considers making a joke like ‘_It’s early. What, can’t read the time or something?’ _to cheer him up, but the idea doesn’t sit right with him. Moving on seems inappropriate. And _oh boy, _does Eddie know Richie. He would take any offer to ignore the tears streaking his cheeks with a hearty enthusiasm.   
  
“Sorry.” Richie mouths, voice barely audible. He shrugs and Eddie notices the way his shoulders easily bounce down- his body is tired, slack. Eddie gives his friend the warmest smile he can offer and motions for him to come in, careful not to do anything _stupid _that will send Richie waffling on and ignoring the issue at hand. Tentatively, he moves past Eddie, eyes still looking somewhere distant, and makes his way straight to his room. Years in the Kaspbrak household has given him a sure knowledge of his house; he knows where to go.  
  
Eddie sighs, rubbing at his temples, and shuts the front door as carefully as he can. Listening to the click of the lock, he decides that he _needs _to discuss whatever has happened. Richie doesn’t cry or, at least, he doesn’t cry _around him_, so this is a big deal. Especially if he’s decided to go to Eddie’s house early. Richie knows the rules, knows to come _exactly _when they agree. To break the ‘be on time’ rule? That warrants concern. Eddie walks through the hall and up the stairs, heading to his room carefully.  
  
"Are you okay?” Eddie asks gently, shutting his bedroom door closed behind himself to provide privacy. He watches as Richie’s lip quivers vulnerably. He thinks for a moment he might cry again, but then he laughs breathily. It isn’t hearty, there’s no joy in it.  
  
“Your mom said to keep your door open.” He tries, eyeing the door handle. Eddie walks towards the bed, eyebrows furrowed with concern.   
  
“Fuck my mom, what’s happening?”  
  
“That’s what I’ve been doing for-“  
  
“Richie.” Eddie snaps out his friend’s name as easily as one might say ‘hello.’ He’s stern, sure of himself. It has just about the same effect as ‘_beep, beep Richie.’ _It stops him right in his tracks, ends the joking. Richie, for the first time since he’s arrived, looks up at Eddie. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to ease the heaviness in his heart. Richie shrugs, nibbling his lip anxiously.  
  
“Parents.” He whispers. Eddie sighs, sitting next to Richie on the bed carefully, keeping distance between them in case it’s _too much. _They don’t touch often and he isn’t really sure if a hug, or even just sitting close, would deter him from talking.  
  
“Did they hurt you like, physically?” Eddie can feel his heart in his throat. He watches Richie carefully, his eyes are sullen and sympathetic and _so fucking careful. _He lets himself gulp hard, and waits for a response anxiously. If Richie were to nod, he doesn’t know what he’d do. Richie sniffles weakly. His eyes dance around their knees as if eye contact is too painful. _Please say no, _Eddie thinks, _God, please say no. _   
  
“No, we just had a fight, I guess…” Eddie wants to sigh, wants to say ‘_thank God.’, _but there’s a look in Richie’s eyes. It says _I wish they had _and that’s scary. He’s doing that thing again. That thing he does sometimes when things get too real. He’s shrugging and looking around for something to make fun of. He’s doing that thing where he _really needs to talk _but is starting to regret opening up in the first place.  
  
Eddie sits on his bed, watching his friend. Suddenly they’re back at Bill’s house. Suddenly, they’re out in the cold, and Richie is whispering ‘_my parents just really don’t like me’ _and Eddie is remembering having felt confused and scared. Eddie looks at Richie and he notices the way he looks unfamiliar, like a stranger with his face, and he thinks _no. No, he refuses. _Because this time, things are different and they’re fucking _fifteen _and Richie is crying, looking at him as if something terrible has happened that he’s too scared to discuss. Eddie watches him and he thinks _how rare is this_? _How many times have I ignored Richie like this? _No, he won’t move on. Eddie looks at him, notices the way he looks at anything _other than _his face, and sighs. He raises his palm, an invitation. Instinctively, Richie looks and, as if his hand belongs there, he returns the gesture. Their scars press against one another and Eddie looks at their fingers. _Almost a handhold.  
_  
“You’re allowed to cry, ‘Chee.” He whispers carefully, as if breathing too loudly is enough to break Richie. He watches as he smiles at his knees and pulls his hand down in to his lap. His breaths are shaky.  
  
“They’re _really fucking absent_. As in, dad’s always at work and mom’s always at some bar and I’m left alone in an empty house. And when they _are _home, it’s one big mess.” Eddie looks at Richie carefully. From what he can tell, he’s lonely. No one is home, so he’s lonely. He takes a shaky breath, wording what he’s going to say carefully. He doesn’t know this, but Richie already knows what he’s about to say and he’s already ready to reply.  
  
“Maybe… It’s better to… have the freedom?” He means it. He doesn’t want to be a dick, but he does. Because being home alone sounds _much better _than having to convince your mother to let you _study. In a public library. _Being alone, quite frankly, sounds like some distant heaven to Eddie. He can imagine it, he envies it sometimes. Being able to just _live _and _breathe _without his mother screaming that he ‘_sounds off because his lungs are weak’. _Richie sighs and looks up, catches his gaze and holds it intensely. It’s like he can read his mind, as if he’s unspooling his thoughts.  
  
“Your mom is such shit, Eddie.” Richie mutters. Eddie just stares back, blinks hard. He thinks that _yeah, Richie definitely is in his head. _He thinks, as hard as he can in case he actually does have telepathy, _that isn’t what I meant. Richie, she isn’t mean to me. It’s just hard sometimes. She’s a good mom, I swear. _It’s futile, because it just sounds like he’s convincing himself more than anyone else. His mouth tastes sour. Eddie absently thinks that he might have an infection in his throat, but he blinks that thought away too because _it doesn’t help prove his point. _He tries his hardest to shake his head. It’s an effort, as if his body is catching up with his doubt.  
  
“She cares about me.” He tries, smiling thickly to sweeten up his words.

And _boy, oh boy, _the world must really, fucking hate him, because in that moment, the absolute worst thing happens. His watch beeps. The sound rings through the room and Eddie looks down. _It’s time to take his pills. _His _fake _pills. He gulps hard and opens up his fanny pack with shaky fingers, not daring to look at Richie when the zip creaks. He knows this isn’t really helping his case, but it’s time. He needs to take them. He can hear Richie sigh, and he wonders if he’s as annoyed as he sounds. He doesn’t look up, though, simply pulls out pink and blue pills. It’s time for his vitamins. Eddie fingers their little, plastic bags. When he opens one, he feels a hand flutter over his.  
  
“Why do you take them?”  
  
And here’s the thing: Richie doesn’t know that they’re fake. It’s not just Richie who doesn’t know, no one does. He never told anyone. Because when he realized that they were sugary, tasted faintly like medicine and _completely useless_, he was too busy fighting a child-eating monster to mention it. Can you blame him? He was going to tell him the day after, Eddie swears to god he was. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop taking them, either. The look in his mother’s eyes, the way she seems so _happy _when she swallows them down, is too much.

At first, he took them for his mom. But then he started to feel nauseous whenever he missed an intake and, to be entirely honest, Eddie isn’t so sure anymore. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s starting to think that maybe he was lied to. If he’s being blunt, it wouldn’t be that shocking of a revelation. Greta Keene, the pharmacist’s daughter, has always been a bit of a gossip. She spreads lies about Beverly, says she’s a slut, and that’s a lie so why wouldn’t the pills be a lie, too? Would it really be that surprising if it turned out that she’s just poking fun at Eddie? What’s the harm, really?  
  
He can’t take them near his friends though. They’re all so brave, they fought _It _with him. He can’t stand funneling pills down his throat near them when he feels like such a _fool _for taking his meds. He feels like a fool and _conflicted. _So takes his pills in the bathroom, and he’s probably made a bigger mess for himself than necessary- he’s put himself in a position where he takes his pills _and_ hides it from his friends. It’s a mess, he knows. A massive, confuddled mess. And, as Richie would say, _Yowza, _he’s in a weird position now.  
  
“I need them.” Eddie replies shakily. He knows that Richie knows. Looking in to his eyes, he knows. He’s unwavering, his gaze is so serious. He’s never told him, but Richie knows. They’re fake, they do nothing. But _are they? _   
  
“Do you?” He isn’t even denying it. Richie’s just asking a simple question. _Do you? _His answer should be fast, snappy, because _god _it’s _not that hard. _But he just isn’t sure. Eddie looks at the scar on his hand and drags a finger over it thoughtfully, nervously. _Do you?  
  
_“Maybe.” He responds. He’s speaking to Richie, but it feels like he’s talking to himself.  
  
“Your mom is such shit.” Richie repeats, resolve unwavering.  
  
Eddie thinks that maybe he wants to hit Richie, wants to punch him and scream ‘_Get out of my fucking head!’ _He looks up, though, and his gaze is captured with worried eyes. He realizes that it isn’t _Richie _who he wants to hurt. He wouldn’t mind pushing his mom off a cliff right now. The moment the image flashes through his mind, Eddie looks away. _What kind of son thinks that? _Instead he picks up a pill, as if apologizing to his mother, and holds it between his fingers. The wax covering it is smooth, shiny. It’s baby blue. He looks at the pill and thinks _what are you? What’s in you? _Is it fake? He feels his heart hammering in his chest and he looks back at Richie. The moment their gazes link, he cowers away and eyes the pill again. His mother’s voice lingers, cries ‘_you’ll faint without your vitamins. You know how you are, Eddie. Your body is weak.’ _It’s true. His body _is _weak, his asthma is proof enough of that. Eddie opens his mouth, overly aware of the eyes on him, and swallows the pill dry. It feels like he’s letting his enemy overcome him. It has the same effect as somehow meeting up with Henry Bowers (even though he’s in a mental asylum) and screaming ‘_hit me!_’ But the punches feel _good_, they still his beating heart and calm him. So what if he’s a masochist?  
  
“Such shit.” Richie repeats, voice thick with bitterness. Eddie can _hear _how tight his jaw is.  
  
“She’s just looking after me.” Eddie has to whisper it. He doesn’t really know if he believes it with Richie watching him like this.  
  
“She controls you, Eddie.” Eddie shakes his head and looks back down at the pills. He has to take two more for his daily dose.  
  
“I need two more for my daily dose,” He repeats, mind thick with a haze of confusion and guilt. He looks up at Richie with shiny eyes, and takes a deep breath. He knows it’s the weak way out, but he wants him to know that he’s _compromising _for now. He’s taking one pill for his mom, and putting the other away for Richie (something deep within himself thinks that maybe he’s putting it away for himself, too). With shaky hands, he scoops the pills up and puts them back in his fanny pack. He feels dizzy, as if his eyes are vibrating. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s because of his confusion, or because he hasn’t taken the required dose of vitamins.

“I feel dizzy” He echoes, looking up at Richie vulnerably, as if asking for permission to take another. He watches as his friend shuffles closer and places his hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. The pressure is reassuring, comforting. Richie is _so close, _he can feel his faint breaths displace the hairs on his head. Eddie gets a whiff of the boyish body spray he uses, and it sends his head spinning. He tries to focus on Richie’s hand instead, warm on his knee, to get some sense of reality, but his touch sends his heart racing, too.  
  
“You okay?” He looks up at Richie and notices _just how tall he is. _He’s towering over him, it’s enough to make Eddie feel somehow safer, as if Richie could easily scoop him up in his arms and make things better. Eddie forces a gulp down; his palms are sweaty. He’s faintly convinced that it’s because he hasn’t had enough vitamins, sure that’s the cause. But he’s made a choice that he doesn’t want to turn back on, so Eddie pushes the conversation on to something else_.  
  
_“What happened with your parents?” He enquires. Richie sighs, slowly peeling his hand off of Eddie’s knee as if he knows it’s been the cause of his dizziness. He slides across the bed until he lies against the headboard. Eddie watches as he smiles half-heartedly and runs his hands through his hair with shaky hands, flicking his tongue over the front of his braces thoughtfully.  
  
“My dad just. Threw some insults around.” He offers. Richie looks like he’s physically _holding back _from talking, too frightened to share. Eddie nods shakily, unsure what he could possibly say to help.   
  
“I’m sorry.” He whispers. And it’s true, he is. He’s sorry that he’s upset, sorry that he can’t say more. Richie looks at Eddie with watery eyes. He bites his lip _hard, _flesh curled under his teeth. He squeezes is eyes shut tight. Eddie watches, stunned and unsure of what to do. He’s going to cry again, going to start bawling. Eddie opens his mouth, not quite knowing what he’s going to say until the words linger in the air.  
  
“You look like you’re about to have an orgasm.” _Jesus. _He wants to fucking shoot himself just about now. All he can think is _I should really change titles with Richie, because look who’s the Trashmouth now. _He didn’t mean for it to come out, it was all he could think to say and _by god, it’s probably no help at all.  
_  
Richie opens his big, wet eyes and stares back. Eddie thinks _fuck, I’ve messed up. _But then his lips curl in to a smirk, and he starts laughing. Bellowing, more like. He rolls around, clutches at his stomach and lets out hysterical gasps. He laughs, tries to stop laughing with wheezy whines, then starts up all over again. Eddie watches and giggles, until eventually his laughs are equally as uncontrollable. There they lie, laughing harder than they have in a long time, joyful tears threatening to streak their cheeks. They laugh because, despite it all, they are fucking _powerful. _Despite it all, they’ve got each other and their _stupid _crying faces that make them look like they’re about to cream their pants and _by god, are they powerful. _Eventually, they calm down, breathy giggles bubbling up their chest occasionally. That’s when they hear a pair of footsteps crossing up the hall, heavy clomps on the floor. Eddie shoots Richie a panicked look of _oh shit_ and scrambles off the bed and towards his bedroom door. His hand snaps on the handle, and he swings it wide open.

“Quick, look Christian!” He yell-whispers at Richie in a panicky voice. It’s not exactly the most helpful direction, but his heart is racing from the risk of getting in trouble and it’s all he can think of. Richie scrambles to his knees and holds out his hands as if he’s praying. If Eddie had the time, he probably would wrinkle his nose and complain about the stupidity of his plan, but he doesn’t. So, instead, he thinks _oh fuck it _and runs over to copy his position. They kneel and bow their heads. That’s essentially what his mom walks in on: the image of two teenage boys, who have never shown any real interest in religion, praying.  
  
“Oh, funny one, God!” Richie screams unconvincingly, pointing up at the sky and snickering. He’s grinning dramatically at the roof as if they had heard God whip out a real good joke and that was why they were laughing. Eddie stifles a giggle with his hand and resists the urge to swat at him because _Richie is the worst at lying. _

Richie and Eddie make it to the Derry library five minutes after the organized meet up time, which isn’t _his _fault at all- Richie had _insisted _on an ‘ice cream break’ as they made their way there, which knocked their schedule back. Checking his watch, Eddie clicked his tongue as he set his bike on the side of the building, next to Richie’s. He looks much better now. He’s had plenty of time to calm down (and ice cream _always _seems to cheer anybody up) and his cheeks have been wiped dry. He’s happier, far more chipper.  
  
The two boys find Ben and Stanley sprawled across a long, wooden desk. Various books are spread across the table, and their noses are deep in whatever they’re studying, as if five minutes has been more than enough time for them to get stuck into it. To be fair, they probably did show up early, because being eager to study just inherently seems like a distinctly Stanley and Ben thing.

“Look at these nerds, actually _reading _in a library!” Richie calls out, far too loudly. Ben smiles at Richie and Eddie, waving them over, while Stanley side-eyes Richie in an annoyed manner, pointing at the ‘_no yelling’ _sign on a nearby wall. Richie doesn’t look, though, and instead strolls over to their friends. Eddie follows and snickers when Richie presses his lips against Stanley’s ear and repeats “_Look at these nerds, actually reading in a library.” _with a whisper. Stanley rolls his eyes, looking back down at his textbook, but Eddie is pretty sure he sees a smile creeping its way onto his lips none-the-less. Eddie sets up next to him, pulling out a thick English textbook so they can work on their current assignment, while Richie slides in next to Ben, a bored expression painted across his face.

The plan had been for just Stanley, Ben and Eddie to show up, since they usually study together in the library on weekends anyway. But last time they had got stuck on the same question for an assignment they had been trying to finish, so they ended early. This time, they’ve learnt their lesson, and invited Richie, who might be _awfully annoying _and distracting, but is surprisingly helpful when it comes to assignments.  
  
Here’s the thing you need to know about Richie: he could be a straight A student easily, and he wouldn’t really have to try. But, of course, to get good grades, you have to _actually _hand something in. So, Richie doesn’t get straight A’s. He gets a healthy array of F’s, because he’s too stubborn and lazy to do the work. The worst bit is that he adds salt in to the wound by figuring out which assignments are worth more and getting A’s on those, effectively only _just _passing his classes. Eddie will be lying if he says it doesn’t get on his nerves sometimes. Hell, it gets on _all of the loser’s _nerves. But it annoys Eddie the most, for different reasons. The losers find it unfair that _he’s _the smartest one, faintly jealous that _the _Trashmouth Tozier is a genius with the libido of a rhinoceros. That doesn’t bother Eddie, really. What gets to him is the fact that he doesn’t work when he could _easily _do well. It frustrates him that he has a life’s worth of talent and potential that he just _wastes. _He’s so sure about avoiding work that Richie will help Eddie with an assignment that he _also _has, and will _still _refuse to do it himself, even though he’s _already written the essay for Eddie. Like, Jesus Christ Richie, just press copy and paste and I’ll reword mine!_

Eddie doesn’t get it. At all. So, he asks.  
  
“’Chee?” Eddie whispers, not wanting to disrupt Stanley. Richie is immediately on his feet, shuffling across the table to sit next to Eddie, grabbing at the paper he has in front of him to read it.  
  
“Mm?” He asks, already reaching for a pen to fix up some spelling mistakes on his work. Eddie sighs, but lets Richie make the changes anyway because _hey, he’ll take whatever help he can get. _  
  
“Why don’t you do your work?” Richie looks up at Eddie under the rim of his glasses. Puts the paper down. Chews his lip.  
  
“I’m too hot to work.” He winks jokingly and looks back down at the homework that he’s placed on the desk. Eddie sighs and slides it away from his view, effectively grabbing Richie’s attention. Their eyes lock and Eddie shoots him a serious look. He knows that bubbling under his jokey exterior is a serious answer, and he’s incessant on figuring out why his best friend has such an overwhelming obsession with avoiding homework like it’s the plague.  
  
“Why?” He repeats gently. Richie sighs, looking to make sure Ben and Stanley aren’t listening. They aren’t, they couldn’t care less.  
  
“My parents aren’t bothered with my grades, so who cares, really?”  
  
“I care,” Eddie snaps back with a sure tone. Richie looks back at him with a gentle vulnerability, and Eddie shrugs shamelessly. “When you get A’s, I’m really proud. You’re super smart, and that’s really cool. I’m sorry that your parents don’t see that.”  
  
“Fuck,” Richie whispers, and Eddie can see that he’s biting down tears “that’s the second time you’ve done that.”  
  
“Done what?” Richie sighs, shakes his head. Instead, he takes Eddie’s hand and runs his finger over his scar absently, as if this moment doesn’t quite call for their palms pressed together but is still important, anyway. Richie’s fingers are electric on Eddie’s skin, every small movement tickles and Eddie watches as his fingers jerk involuntarily. Richie is watching, too, and they’re strangely quiet. There’s a lump forming in the back of his throat, his mouth is dry.  
  
“Eddie, what does this mean?” Eddie locks eyes with Richie, addressing the awkwardness of the moment they just shared, and pulls his hand away slowly while looking over to Stanley. Before it really begins, the moment passes, and Eddie’s attention is elsewhere. Richie smiles privately while Eddie tries to help his friend figure out what the _fuck _Shakespeare is trying to say.

* * *

“Mike, just _ask her_, you won’t know if she likes you until you do.”

The losers made their way to The Barrens after school, skipping rocks and building dams. It had been nice, care-free. But Eddie doesn’t feel so great anymore, because the conversation has made its way over to _this- _talk of girls, crushes. Beverly is pushed against Bill, sitting between his legs casually. Stanley is next to Eddie (they’ve slowly been shuffling closer during social situations because their disapproving looks towards Richie usually hold more gravity when they’re paired), Richie is next to Eddie because _duh _and Ben is sitting with Mike. He seems much less bothered about Bill and Beverly now, and he had even let out a little _‘I’m happy for you guys’ _at lunch. It was nice, the day had been _good. _But now? This conversation? Not so nice. 

Mike smiles at Beverly, sheepishly looking at the rocks beneath his shoes.  
  
“She’s just _really _pretty, what if she says no?”  
  
“You should try.” Ben smiles.  
  
“Yeah, Mike. You gotta hit that.” Richie throws a wink over at Mike and Eddie rolls his eyes. Stanley doesn’t join in, though. Actually, he _laughs with _Richie. That’s how he knows that he’s lost, that Eddie _very clearly _is the minority at the moment. He feels uncomfortable, suddenly very sweaty even though it really isn’t that hot out today.   
  
“What about you, Rich? Any crushes?” Beverly asks. Eddie wriggles uncomfortably.  
  
“Eddie’s mom.” Richie replies, blowing a kiss out to him. Eddie elbows his friend, but is inwardly thankful for the distraction from his discomfort.  
  
“Seriously though,” Stan starts “Any girls?” _Never mind, _Eddie thinks, _I’m uncomfortable again.  
_  
“Violet Kelch has a pretty good set, I won’t lie.” He responds. Everyone laughs with him, even Beverly. Eddie feels uncomfortable thinking about someone in their grade like that.  
  
“You should a-ask her o-out.” Bill suggests.  
  
“I could give it a try.” Richie states, shrugging. Eddie frowns at him, trying his best to keep his mouth shut because he wants to say _no. _Since when did Richie actually _try _to date people? He’s made jokes about it, sure, but since when did Richie start picking out girls specifically? Eddie swallows, it feels like he’s just forcing air down his throat. His hand ghosts his aspirator in his pocket, but he refrains using it because _how embarrassing would that be?  
_  
“Eddie?” Ben asks, smiling.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Any girls?” Ben repeats. Eddie feels his hands shake, he tightens his grasp on his aspirator as if it’s a lifeline.

All year, they’ve been talking about girls. _She’s hot, I’d tap that_, but they never _asked Eddie_. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, really, because it’s an innocent enough question. The problem is that it has him _shaking and sweating, _like a murderer during an intense police interview. He just doesn’t really see the appeal, he’s never given girls any real attention, but he _knows for a fact _that there’s something wrong with that. He knows that everyone else thinks about them, or at least his friends do because it’s _all they ever talk _about. He feels guilty for wishing he could talk to Beverly about _her _crushes instead- somehow that sounds more appealing. But, at the same time, a small voice rings through the back of his head and whispers ‘_You shouldn’t have to want anything you don’t want’_. He isn’t sure if that’s true, maybe he _does _have to want a girl. 

“Yeah.” Eddie chokes out. The lie escapes his lips before he can help himself. Maybe it’s from lying to his mom so much, maybe it’s become a second instinct. Maybe he’s becoming a compulsive liar. He must be, because when Richie asks:  
  
“Who?” Eddie’s mouth is moves before he can think.  
  
“Penny Stone.” And there it is. Another lie. It’s thick, its ugly and its… _wrong._ He looks at Richie, hopes he can tell that he’s lying. He can’t really get a read on him, though, because Richie is just looking at the floor and doing that thing where he bites his lip. And that usually means that he’s upset, so maybe Richie _does know he’s lying_ and he’s mad with him for that? Eddie isn’t sure and he feels like he might vomit because _oh god no_, _he doesn’t want to lie to them_. They’re his best friends, he would hate to lie to them like he lies to his mother.  
  
“We should totally get you two together!” Beverly enthuses.

And Eddie’s body must hate him, because he nods.

* * *

“Penny Stone?” Eddie might throw up. He might have to excuse himself from the phone, because he’s _going to throw up_. Eddie opens his mouth to lie _again _and catches himself, because _fuck that. _He swallows. _Why is he sweating so much? _

“What?” Eddie thinks that maybe if Richie repeats the question, his lie will vanish in thin air, like a rabbit under a magician’s hat.

Beverly had made plans that night, promising Eddie that she’ll tell Penny he likes her tomorrow. Eddie went red and everyone teased him for being shy, but he had been faintly convinced that he was _dying. _Richie spent the whole evening _silent, _just as quiet as Eddie (who couldn’t, _wouldn’t, _talk, in case he accidentally lied again). When he finally got home, he felt like crying. He wanted to explode in to a million little pieces and _die, _but he instead spent most of his time using his aspirator as if he couldn’t breathe without it. Richie called not soon after they hung out. It was an effort for Eddie to open his mouth to so much as say _‘Hello?’_.  
  
“You like Penny Stone? As in, boring Penny with the tight bun who sits in the front of class?” Richie spits out the words, and Eddie knows he’s mad at him for lying.  
  
“I’m sorry, Rich.”  
  
“Why? Don’t be.”  
  
“I shouldn’t lie to you like that.” He answers solemnly, voice choking. He feels _terrible_ and he just wants to curl in to a ball and cry. He’s never been more ashamed in his life.  
  
“Wait- _What the fuck?_” Eddie blinks for a moment, because Richie doesn’t sound as mad as he was before, so what changed? “Lie?”  
  
“Yeah…” Eddie swallows, confused “I lied about Penny?” It’s more of a question, because he’s trying to clarify that they’re on the same page.  
  
“_Oh. Shit,” _They definitely _aren’t _on the same page. “Why in the _fuck _did you lie?”  
  
“I don’t know, because everyone was talking about girls and…” Eddie frowns at the phone cord, trying to find his words as he twists it between his fingers “I don’t know, I don’t like anyone. So I said Penny. I haven’t really even looked at her all year. I mean, she’s nice and pretty, but-“  
  
“Eddie-bear, get off the phone, please.” _Shit. _His mom is on the phone. Panicked, flustered and feeling fundamentally _rushed, _Eddie hangs up on Richie by pushing the phone hard against the receiver. He sighs, letting go, and prepares himself for the scalding he’ll get after ‘_talking to that Tozier boy’. _He shuffles his feet down the hall, towards his mother. He’ll get the scalding over with and maybe he’ll actually feel _better _after getting wrung out with her lecturing. He reaches the living room and peers in, gasping softly when he notices the tears on his mom’s cheeks. She’s crying, but there’s a smile on her face, too. He’s _very confused.  
  
_“When will I meet her?” She asks, smiling. Okay, now Eddie is _really _confused.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Penny.” Eddie chokes on his spit, spluttering.  
  
“What?” He squeaks out. His mom smiles wider and Eddie almost melts: it’s been a _very long time _since he’s seen her happy.   
  
“I’m _so pleased _that you’ve found a girl, my handsome boy. I worried for a long time that you might go _queer_, but I’m so happy for you.” Eddie gulps hard, forcing his voice down to his chest. He wants to scream, because he’s catching on to what’s happening. He coughs, hoping his suspicions are wrong.   
  
“What did you hear me say on the phone exactly, mom?”  
  
“Oh, you’re all embarrassed! Don’t worry, I didn’t listen long. She’s really pretty, you said?” Eddie squeaks a _mhmm, _smiling pleasantly despite the panic bubbling through his chest. He slowly walks to his room and vaults _right the fuck out of his window.  
  
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. _

Eddie is in Richie’s room in record time. It usually takes him ten minutes to get there, but he’s out of his house and at his best friend’s window in less than five. When Eddie knocks against the glass, still panting from pedaling like his life depended on it, Richie opens the window instantly, as if he’s been waiting for Eddie to arrive. To be fair, he probably has. 

“How fast did you bike here?” Richie asks, staring at Eddie with wild eyes. Eddie opens his mouth to choke out a response, but he finds that his voice gets stuck in his dry throat. Instead, he wheezes and wheezes in raspy breaths “_Dude, _use your aspirator.” Eddie watches as Richie scrambles his arms through the window to grab at his left pocket, where his aspirator _always _is. He yanks it out triumphantly and, without thinking, places the plastic against Eddie’s lips encouragingly. He opens his mouth, throat painfully tight. Richie presses the button twice, and Eddie feels his lungs open up. His cheeks blush bright red when Richie pulls the aspirator from his lips slowly, but he tries to ignore the heat. Instead, he takes his medicine back and pockets it, holding Richie’s hands to climb through the window. Slowly, he toes his way to Richie’s bed with a sigh. He tries to piece his thoughts together, brows knitted and panic subsiding.   
  
“Mom heard our conversation.”  
  
“Is she mad about the swearing?” Eddie laughs. _He wishes. _  
  
“She heard the end of it, thinks I’m dating Penny. She’s _ecstatic, _wants to meet her, I think.” Eddie can’t really explain the entire situation well, because his brain is buzzing with panic. He grabs at his hair and tugs painfully. He doesn’t really notice, because he’s too busy thinking about _everything_, but Richie must, because he rushes over to Eddie and slowly pries his hand away from his fringe. Eddie looks up at Richie, who has concern painted all across his face.  
  
“Can you tell her the truth?” Eddie shakes his head immediately. He hasn’t told his mom the complete truth in _months. _A word echoes in his ear, running through his head. It scares him, thinking about it. He had heard that word so many times before, and it probably wasn’t a _good thing. _She had spat it out as if it was dangerous, so the idea of being anything like _that _frightened him.  
  
“She said she was happy I had a girl, because she worried I was _queer._” The word feels foreign to him, leaves a weird taste in his mouth. He can hear Richie sigh next to him. They’re silent for a moment, Eddie supposes that Richie is thinking on what has been said, trying to come up with a solution.  
  
“Tell your mom she broke up with you.”  
  
“God, she’ll _smother _me,” Eddie retorts, sighing. “And she’ll probably confront Penny, too.” Richie nods quietly, chewing on his lip.  
  
“What if you say you have a crush on her, but you found out she has a boyfriend already?” Eddie opens his eyes, looking at Richie as if he’s the smartest guy in the world. And well, he kind of is if he can come up with an idea like _that_.  
  
“That’ll work.” Richie nods, his shoulders relaxing. Eddie didn’t even notice that they were tense. He feels a little fuzzy and warm thinking about that, Richie worrying _for _him.  
  
“And I’ll call Bev, tell her the truth.” Eddie groans against his hands.  
  
“Everyone will think I’m weird.” Richie furrows his brows.  
  
“Why would they do that?”   
  
“I don’t like any girls _and _I lie about it?” Richie shakes his head, a determined look in his eyes.  
  
“They won’t judge.” Eddie sighs, he doesn’t feel very comforted.  
  
“I guess.” Richie bites his lip. It’s a habit that he’s never really had before, but has been cropping up more and more recently. Or maybe he _has _bitten his lip all the time, and Eddie is only just noticing it now. Richie holds out his palm, and Eddie instinctively presses their hands together. They don’t move, don’t pull away.  
  
“Rich?”  
  
“Yeah?” His hand is still pressed against Eddie’s. It’s comforting, soothing.  
  
“What does queer mean?” He asks, embarrassed. Richie looks down at him gently.  
  
“Gay.” He mutters. Eddie nods slowly, feeling fragile.  
  
“Thanks for not asking if I am… _That,” _Eddie starts, too scared to even say gay or queer “Most people probably would.” Richie shakes his head and shrugs.  
  
“I mean, that wasn’t what we were talking about anyway,” A silence lingers between them. It isn’t awkward or even uncomfortable. Eddie spends the time thinking about that word: queer. What does it mean to him? “Man, I know I’m married to her and all, but sometimes I _really _hate your mom.” Richie blurts out, completely breaking Eddie’s thoughts. He swats at his arm, telling his friend to _shut up. _He won’t admit it, but he feels relieved and _much _happier. Richie always seems to do that, cheer him up. 

* * *

It’s Friday night and Bill’s parents are throwing a family friends, dinner thing at his house, so the losers are sleeping over at Ben’s house tonight. His mom is inviting and friendly. She cooks them dinner, a really nice homemade lasagna, and checks up on them every five minutes or so to top off their snacks (doritios and gummy worms, respectively). It’s weird having an adult around, because usually at Bill’s his parents do their own thing, but it’s also nice. Like being a kid again.  
  
It’s hard not to notice, but Beverly is covered in bruises. No one really says anything, not even Richie, who talks about _everything. _But he does look over at her continuously, face stone hard and protective as all hell. There’s a big cut on her lip, a shiny purple bruise on her cheekbone, finger marks on her wrist. She doesn’t seem too bothered, because she talks like nothing has happened, like she’s fine. Sometimes Bill gives her a kiss on the cheek, right on that bruise, and she seems to ease up a bit. Eddie smiles, because that’s a really nice thing for Bill to do.  
  
Richie is sitting next to Eddie with his mouth wide open, showing off the fluorescent pink colour of the bands on his braces. Eddie keeps catching himself staring at Richie’s mouth as he talks, rather than his eyes. He’s pretty sure he’s watching because of the new colour, but his pounding heart seems to argue something entirely different. He’s been trying his best not to let that bother him.  
  
“My mouth hurts, Eddie.” Richie whines, staring at him with his stupid, pretty, dark eyes, his bottom lip puffed out in a sigh. Eddie rolls his eyes as an excuse to pull his gaze away.  
  
“You’re fine, ‘Chee.” Richie shakes his head, whining.  
  
“The wires _hurt.” _He’s putting on a baby voice. It’s a strange mix of annoying and cute. Eddie smiles at Richie.  
  
“You’re a sissy.”  
  
“You’re so mean to me.” Richie doesn’t mean it, he’s smiling. Eddie catches himself wondering what it’s like to kiss someone with braces on, and shoves that thought far, far away because he’s looking at his best friend while he thinks that and _that’s weird.  
_  
“When are you getting them out?” Mike cuts in, and Eddie’s sighs to himself, glad for the distraction.   
  
“Two weeks, I can’t _wait _to be free!” Neither can Eddie. He’s never seen Richie without his big, childish teeth; he wonders what he’ll look like without them.  
  
“You say that like you’ve been in jail.” Stanley buts in.  
  
“My poor teeth have been up in _chains_, Stan the Man.” Stanley just rolls his eyes at Richie, and Eddie giggles. Richie turns to Eddie, eyes big. He opens his mouth, and Eddie is pretty sure he’s about to ask him if he ‘_seriously just giggled?’.  
  
_He’s interrupted with a violent knock (more like _banging_) at the door. The losers look around at each other as Ben’s Mom disappears to the door. They listen to her muffled voice curiously, a look of fear (_tasty, tasty, beautiful fear_) flashing across their faces. _It, _Eddie absently wonders. He doesn’t let himself finish that thought.  
  
Eddie looks up rather suddenly to notice a tall, thin man in the doorway. He’s staring down at Beverly with a sickly frown on his face, his eyes are fluttering over to Bill (who has his hand intertwined with Bev’s) with a look that makes Eddie think that he might just crack his skull. For such intense looks, the interaction is rather tame.  
  
“Beverly, you need to go home.” Beverly looks up. She closes her eyes and seems to swallow something down.  
  
“Okay, daddy.” Eddie looks around. Bill is shocked and frightened, Ben looks like he’s on the edge of saying something, and Richie’s jaw is _tight.  
  
_And here’s the thing: Eddie knows Richie like the back of his hand. This? This he doesn’t know. Beverly is being pulled by her wrist, and it’s so subtle that you’d barely notice the way her skin goes white under his grasp. Richie is the last person Eddie expects to snap, especially considering two of the boys in the room have a crush on Beverly and love her with their every being, but he does. He stands up, clenches his fist and straightens his back.  
  
“Let her go.” Beverly looks at Richie. Her eyes are bloodshot, pleading._ Don’t. _She mouths. Her dad gives Richie a confused stare that is immediately off putting. Eddie’s breath is wheezy and rattling in his throat.  
  
“I’m sorry, young man?” Eddie can’t breathe. He needs his aspirator. Everything is happening too quickly for him to think.  
  
“I said. Let her go.” Funnily enough, he does. Beverly’s dad lets go, and takes a step forward. Everyone scrambles to their feet, holding their hands up passively. Eddie can’t, though, his weight feels so heavy on the couch. His throat feels _stuck. _He looks up at Richie and he isn’t sure what’s happening, but he knows he hasn’t seen that look in his face since Neibolt- He looks like he’s out for blood. Eddie can’t breathe. He’s panicking. What if Beverly gets hurt, what if_ Richie_ gets hurt? He’s gasping and he can’t breathe. He takes Richie’s fist in his hand without even really noticing it himself. Richie looks down at him, face still taut, Eddie tries to gulp. He isn’t sure if he succeeds, his vision is blurring and he’s too dizzy to notice. Beverly looks up at Alvin Marsh and takes his hand, too, reflecting Eddie’s actions.   
  
“Daddy, can we go now?” Her voice wobbles.  
  
“Of course, sweetie.” Slowly, they leave the room, stepping past Ben’s mom. The tension lingers in the air.  
  
And, not to be dramatic or anything, Eddie literally can’t breathe.

  
Eddie pries his eyes open, wincing as his eyes adjust to the light in the room. He half expects to find himself in the hospital, because he’s _pretty sure that he fainted, _but he isn’t. He’s in a bed, and the wall is plastered with _New Kids On The Block _posters. _Thank God, _Eddie thinks, because he isn’t exactly keen on the idea of dealing with his mom panicking over him at the moment. He groans and feels someone gently tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.   
  
“You fainted.” Richie says the moment Eddie looks over at him. Eddie nods slowly and holds out a hand, signalling for him to wait up while he gets his bearings. Everything is too much and he’s honestly a little confused, trying piece together the events of the day. Richie presses his palm against Eddie’s, pushing their scars together. He laughs wheezily, shaking his head in amusement, _he wasn’t asking for that, but he’ll take it. _  
  
“I was telling you to stop, let me catch my breath.” He whispers. Richie smiles, his features easing a little.  
  
“Right, sorry.” Richie doesn’t move his hand though. Eddie doesn’t either.  
  
“What happened?” He asks uneasily, sitting up a little. Richie quickly moves to tuck a pillow behind his back and Eddie lazily laces his fingers with his, suddenly feeling far more calm and grounded.  
  
“Bev’s dad grabbed her. Ben’s mom tried calling the police, but Bill somehow convinced her not to… I _may have _yelled at him for that, but then I got tired and worried that you’d wake up alone, so I gave up and came in here.” Eddie nods, swallowing dryly. He knows he shouldn’t focus on this, because he has bigger things to worry about, but he is _extremely _flattered that Richie would worry about him despite everything else. Feeling dizzy, Eddie leans against Richie’s shoulder. He notices how his hand tightens against his momentarily, then relaxes. Eddie tries to convince himself that his heart is racing because he fainted.   
  
“Will Beverly be okay?” Richie looks down at Eddie and lets out a shaky sigh, raking shaky fingers through the inky curls of his hair with his spare hand.   
  
“She’s tough, y’know? I’m worried, but I know she can handle herself.” Eddie nods against Richie’s shoulder, a sleepiness taking over his body.  
  
“You’re stupid.” He mutters, thinking about how Richie had been ready to fight a _grown ass man_.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You could’ve been hurt.”  
  
“I didn’t want Beverly hurt.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Eddie feels his eyes droop involuntarily, and he fights to keep them open. _Wowza, _passing out sure is tiring. He yawns and Richie instinctively moves his arm to pull him in closer. Richie is warm against him, and the rise and fall of his chest is soothing, so Eddie closes his eyes and lets himself rest. He’s worried about Beverly, but everything else seems so far away, because he’s just _so damn tired. _  
  
He lets himself sleep. When he wakes up, he’s next to a snoring Richie Tozier.


	3. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is sixteen and his life is quickly becoming a complicated ball of mess.  
Arising concerns about crushes, pills and sexuality plague his mind, and the evil in Derry doesn't seem too intent on waiting for him to figure everything out on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
Mentions of both physical and emotional abuse, Richie's mom's alcoholism is also explored.   
There's a short moment where Eddie considers throwing up his food.  
Drug use, from cigarettes to weed, as well as cheap weed side effects.  
Homophobic language and internalised homophobia throughout the chapter.

If a prize for hiding bruises exists, then Beverly Marsh sure as hell should sign up as a competitor; she’d win easily.  
  
She wears big jumpers now, ones that settle right above the knee and dangle from her arms. It’s an unusual sight, since Eddie’s only ever really seen her in skirts and tank tops, she always made a point of showing off her pretty skin, because she ‘_shouldn’t have to hide her body just because boys are creepy._’ She wears makeup, too, like to how Eddie spent a good month or two hiding his freckles with foundation (Richie started catching on, so that plan died off pretty quick). Sometimes it actually helps, covers the bruises on her cheekbones, sometimes it just hides the shiny sheen on her skin, makes the colour less intense. Needless to say, she’s ‘_walking in to poles_’ a whole lot more. Or, at least, that’s what she tells the teachers. She doesn’t bullshit the losers, though- she’s strikingly _frank _with them. Whenever she tells a stranger that she ‘_fell on the curb_’, she turns to her friends and corrects herself with ‘_fell on her dad’s fist_’. Eddie is never quite sure how to react, so he just asks her how the swelling is going and keeps antibacterial wipes in his fanny pack for whenever she has a particularly nasty nick above her brow.   
  
She’s brave though, if anything harder and more bold. She hangs out at other people’s houses a lot, but never Eddie’s because his mom would _never _let her in anyway. She’s always mean to Beverly behind closed doors, and he isn’t too keen on her listening to any of _that _herself. Beverly is at Ben’s house most of the time, and she visits Richie whenever his house is empty (which is more often than not).  
  
Eddie doesn’t pry, because Beverly is _really strong. _He knows how it feels to think you’re weak, to have other people think you’re weak, and it _really fucking sucks. _Whenever Beverly tells him about the bruises on her face, Eddie reminds her that she’s brave. And Beverly smiles a Beverly kind of smile, and gets on with things, because she isn’t the kind of person to let anything drag her down.  
  
Sometimes Eddie thinks he wouldn’t mind driving a steak through Alvin Marsh’s heart, though.

* * *

  
  
Eddie sighs, leaning against the brick wall and tapping his feet to pass the time.  
  
He’s waiting for Richie to head out of the school’s entrance and walk him home, like they always do. It hasn’t really been that long, maybe fifteen minutes at the most, but Eddie is on a tight schedule anyway. Getting back home late _isn’t an option_, because Sonia Kaspbrak is a woman who strongly believes in the ‘_the first 24 hours are the most crucial_’ rule. Richie knows this, too. He’s never late out of school; despite seemingly having a handicapped sense of time, walking Eddie home is just something he _never _misses. Hell, one time he was only three minutes late, and he spent the entire walk home apologizing _profusely _because he had been caught up talking to a teacher (who was probably telling Richie that he could _definitely _get good grades if he just did his work).  
  
So this is weird.  
  
Sighing, Eddie feels his heart race and peeks around the school, checking that no one is paying him attention. A small gaggle of kids are a few miles out by the entrance, but they’re too busy laughing and kicking a coke can around to notice him. Hastily, eyes trained on the double doors in case Richie shows up, he scrambles through his fanny pack and pulls out a white capsule. Thoughtlessly, he swallows it dry and sighs with relief when his heart beat slows and his anxiousness fades. For some time, he thought they were fake, but Eddie is pretty sure that Greta Keene had lied to him on that fateful day, because they really _do _have an effect on him.  
  
With an exasperated puff of air, Eddie kicks himself away from the wall and decides to loop around the outside of school in hopes of bumping in to Richie. Letting the cool breeze of wind serenade him, Eddie tries to push away the incessant voice in the back of his head warning him that his friend is in danger. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes Eddie gets whispers of panic as hot, fearful waves settle over him, and he can’t help but worry that _It _is back. Eddie tries to focus on the steady pace of his feet, reminding himself that _It _hasn’t returned yet, so why would _It _now?  
  
It isn’t long until Eddie hears a familiar laugh, one which he has indulged in hearing for most of his boyhood, come from a small gap where two buildings are separated. The space, simply put, is _filthy. _A staph infection waiting to happen. He knows this because Richie has suggested the two of them ditch class in there before. The idea repulsed him then, and it’s even less appealing now. He peers in, holding in a dry-heave that is bubbling up in his throat. There’s gum wedged between bricks- a rainbow of _gross. _Trash litters the filthy, black floor and a distinctively _repulsive _smell wafts its way over to him. Eddie vaguely thinks that it smells like the sewers, or the leper, but he swats that away and reminds himself that it’s just a stupid hideout. Rolling his knitted sweater’s sleeves up, Eddie grumbles.  
  
“_Fuck you, Tozier._” He whispers, holding his breath while he squeezes through the gap, focusing _very hard _on not brushing against the walls. He tries his best not to think about how many kids have probably given each other blow-jobs in there.  
  
Eventually, the little gap widens, and Eddie can see a small, shaded alcove ahead, completely hidden from any teacher’s sights. It’s honestly a wonder that the staff haven’t bricked the area up yet, because it very _obviously _a hideout for doing dodgy shit. For example, the kind of dodgy shit that Eddie walks in on.  
  
Richie and Beverly sit on the (filthy) floor, a cigarette caught between each of their lips as they idly chat.  
  
“I hate both of you.” Eddie blatantly announces, brushing flecks of grime off his shirt with a disgusted expression across his face.   
  
“Eds? Why are you skipping?” Richie questions, pulling a cigarette from his lips as if he’s been caught by a teacher (to be fair, Eddie probably _is _more scary than a teacher.)  
  
“The bell went, asshole. I’ve been waiting for you.” Richie’s eyes, rather comically, widen.   
  
“_Shit, _I’m so sorry.” He blurts, scrambling to his feet and stomping out his cigarette. With a sigh, Eddie turns to Beverly, arms crossed.  
  
“Are you _trying _to give him lung cancer?”  
  
“I thought you’d be thanking me for killing him off for you.” Beverly winks cheekily, and Eddie sighs hard. He notices the cut on her lip and promptly reminds himself that he’s less mad with her than he is with Richie, so he tries his best to focus his anger on the gangly idiot instead. Beverly stands and swings her backpack over her shoulder, brushing her knees. When they shuffle past Eddie and through the gap, he pinches at his nose dramatically: they smell like absolute _shit._  
  
“Rich, tell me that isn’t weed.” He calls, shuffling behind the two of them. Richie’s familiar laugh reaches his ears.  
  
“’Course not.”  
  
“Don’t lie to me.”  
  
“Eds, why would I smoke weed? It’d make you angry, you’d stop hanging out with me and honestly, you’re too cute to lose.” Richie turns to Eddie, watching as he _finally _makes his way out of the repulsive gap. Taking a heavy breath of fresh air, he rolls his eyes.  
  
“Don’t call me Eds.”

Beverly waves goodbye to the two boys, diverging from the path to make her own way home. Richie and Eddie continue up the road, sunlight beginning to fade as the day passes (okay, so maybe Eddie is being dramatic. It isn’t _actually _getting dark out, but the point is that it may as well be, because his mom is going to throw a _fit _when he gets home late).  
  
“You smell like shit, you know.”  
  
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who cough whenever they pass a smoker.” Eddie punches Richie’s arm to shut him up: he _definitely is _that kind of person.  
  
“You get your braces off finally, and the first thing you do is decide to get a nicotine addiction and stain your teeth.”  
  
“Since when did you care about my teeth, Eddie Spaghetti? Been thinking about kissing me?” Richie turns on Eddie, his lips puckered. In response, Eddie gives him a hearty shove, causing his friend to stumble backwards.  
  
“Kiss you? With your trash mouth? No-fucking-thank-you.” Eddie grips at his backpack straps hard, speeding up his steps while Richie rushes to catch up.  
  
He doesn’t understand him sometimes. Like, _seriously? _Richie’s braces were removed that summer, and he spent _weeks _going on about how happy he was with his pretty, straight teeth. For the first few days, it was hard for Eddie to get used to the new way his mouth moved whenever he spoke, but the braces _really did _do wonders for him. Eddie won’t admit it, he’d never tell him because he _doesn’t _need the ego boost, but Richie has started getting like, kind of hot. Of course, in a strictly objective way. His jaw has sharpened, his lips are becoming fuller, and his body’s height has started to distribute evenly. He’s even growing his thick, black hair out, embracing the wild curls and, while Eddie complained about it needing a trim, it honestly kind of looks _good. _  
  
But now he’s smoking, so that immediately ruins _all of that. _   
  
“I’m sorry for running late, Eds.” Richie says sincerely, his voice soft.  
  
“Your lungs are gonna be raisins if you keep smoking.” Eddie replies, batting his half-hearted apology away.  
  
“Still pent up on that, are we? Naw, are you worried for me?” Richie coos, linking their arms together affectionately. Eddie immediately pushes him away, frustrated and annoyed.  
  
“Ruin your body however you want,” He shrugs to show his complete nonchalance because _as if he cares anyway_ “Just chew some fucking gum next time, you stink.”  
  
“Anything for you, my princess.”  
  


* * *

  
Eddie’s sixteenth birthday, simply put, fucking sucks. Or, at least, by the time the sky turns black and day turns to night, the birthday boy has decided that it sucks.  
  
Everything begins relatively normal, like any other day: Eddie wakes up to his alarm, has a nice, warm shower and dresses in one of his shorter pairs of shorts (it’s a hot day) and a baby blue polo shirt. All of this is topped off, of course, with his favorite pink fanny pack. Richie had teased him for it before, noticing that he only ever wears it when he’s going out for a special event (like homecoming or thanksgiving), so he referred to it as his ‘_formal fanny pack._’ The concept stuck, and Eddie consciously makes an effort to only ever wear it for special occasions like, for example, his own birthday.  
  
Excitedly, Eddie races down the stairs to the kitchen, humming to himself as he moves. He pours himself some cereal (The blander, healthier kind: with nuts and berries that taste like cardboard littered throughout) and sits heartily at the dining room table, wondering what his friends will do for his birthday.  
  
He’s sixteen, and the idea of that both frightens and _thrills _Eddie. Excitedly, he thinks about learning to drive, since he can legally do that now, and curls his leg around the chair. Maybe, if he’s really, really nice to his mom, she will pay for the lessons. Soon enough, he’ll get his license, and he will be able to drive the losers to school; they could _even _hang out in his car. Having a driver in the group will definitely give them more time to meet up, and _that’s _something Eddie is especially eager about.  
  
He spoons up some cereal and forces himself to swallow. Sometimes, he wishes he could live at Richie’s house. He’s probably eating something good and sugary right now. Eddie privately laughs to himself because _no, never mind. He’s probably still asleep in bed and he’ll skip breakfast in a race to get here on time. _Eddie notices footsteps come from the hall, and he looks up with a smile. His mom is going to be _so proud of him. _Maybe, _yes, maybe, _she’ll even have some presents for him this year.  
  
When Sonia finally appears, however, she isn’t happy _at all. _Eddie watches as she takes a tentative seat, sniffling and letting a tear roll down her cheek. He puts his spoon back down carefully.   
  
“Momma?” She sniffs again and stares glumly at his breakfast.  
  
“You don’t want to leave me, do you Eddie?” She asks, her gaze drifting up to catch Eddie’s, eyes sparkling with tears. On instinct, Eddie shakes his head and frowns. _Of course he doesn’t want to, he loves her. _  
  
“Why would I, mom?”  
  
“You’re a big boy now, I’m sure you’ll get tired of me eventually.” Her bottom lip wobbles pitifully, words minced and shaky.  
  
“I’m not going to leave, ma.”  
  
“Do you promise me?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Promise you’ll never leave me, Eddie-bear. Promise that you’ll be here with me forever.” She sniffles for a third time, tucking her body shyly away from him, as if he would hurt her. Eddie isn’t sure if his heart is even beating, because he’s so _shocked. _He sighs outwardly, acknowledging how genuine her fears of being alone are. She _does _get lonely a lot, especially since Eddie has been hanging out with the losers more and more. And he supposes she has every right to feel that way; maybe he _should _be paying her more attention. He doesn’t want her to feel lonely, and it’s _his job _to make sure she’s happy, so he nods.  
  
“’Course not, ma.” Sonia nods wetly and rises from her seat, slinking away from the room and leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts. He sits in silence, spooning cereal in to his mouth, and tries to ignore the deflated feeling washing over him. _  
  
  
_  
“Edssss!” Richie screeches like a seagull and runs towards his friend eagerly. In response, Eddie squeals and shies away, frightened the he’s going to be trampled. Richie doesn’t run him over though, he instead hooks his hands under Eddie’s armpits and lifts him up, spinning him through the air.  
  
“Put me down, Rich!” Eddie screams, kicking his legs frantically. Richie giggles, gently placing him back on the pavement with a warm expression across his face, following him down the pavement as they walk side-by-side.  
  
“Hey, Eds.”  
  
“Don’t call me Eds.”  
  
“I got you this.” Richie reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a small tape, sheepishly holding it out.   
  
“_’Got me’_ that? Seems to me that you made a mixtape to avoid spending money.” Eddie jokes, taking the tape none-the-less. His cheeks are hot, and he knows he’s blushing (it really is a _sweet _gesture), so he gives Richie a gentle smile.   
  
“You know me, Eds. Poor as dirt,” Richie jokes with a toothy grin. Eddie turns the tape over, affectionately reading his friend’s messy handwriting to see what songs have been burned on “I know your mom doesn’t let you play music, but I was thinking maybe we could play it at mine or something.” Eddie scoffs, eyes still scanning over Richie’s sloppy handwriting.   
  
“Then why not keep it at yours?”  
  
“Because it’s your tape,” Richie shrugs noncommittally, kicking at his feet “And maybe later, when I start working, which I know is a long while away but I promise I won’t forget, I can get you something to play it on. And you can drive and listen to it and-“  
  
“’Chee! You put ‘Africa’ on this!?” Eddie screeches, his excitement evident. Richie grins as he dips his hands in to his pockets.   
  
“Well, duh. It’s like, _our _song.” Eddie smiles up at Richie gently, a light blush bruising its way on his cheeks. It’s cheesy, but the words ‘_our song’ _ring through his head like a love-sick mantra. He’s a dick, but Richie can be a _really good friend _when he tries.   
  
“These are all great tracks, Rich.” He states, smiling at his gift with closed lips.  
  
“Well, duh. I’m basically a music god,” He leans over as he speaks to point out the songs written on the back “I put some of my stuff here too, because I know you like the rock songs I play sometimes. Maybe if you’re sad, when you have a tape player, you could listen to it and like, I don’t know, think of me. It’ll be like we’re thrashing and rocking about together.” Eddie looks up to meet Richie’s gaze. He shrugs, cheeks red from embarrassment as he chews at his lip. Eddie can’t help but think he looks beautiful when he’s shy, but he shakes the thought away anyway.  
  
“Yeah, that sounds really nice.”  
  
“Happy birthday, Eds.” Richie smiles, causing Eddie to feel giddy, heart skipping every second beat. 

The losers made sure to spoil Eddie throughout the day. Stanley talks to him all through English, which is unmistakably a big deal, since he’s anal about getting his work finished in class. When Eddie tells him he doesn’t have to talk, he simply tucks his worksheet carefully into one of his folders, saying he’ll ‘_catch up after school, anyway’_.  
  
Beverly, Ben and Richie somehow manage to get the entire class to sing him happy birthday during P.E (which is both embarrassing and endearing, but mostly embarrassing). Richie even purposely trips over as the lesson starts, making a show of dramatically complaining over a feigned rolled ankle. When he sits on the bench with Eddie, who is _never _allowed to participate because his mom tells his teacher he has ‘soft bones’_, _Richie cracks jokes and grins goofily when Eddie calls him out for faking an injury (‘_But you looked so pretty sitting there alone, Eds. I couldn’t resist joining mah southern belle!_’)  
  
In maths, Bill grins and encourages Eddie when he rambles about his bubbling excitement to learn how to drive. He talks about car models and when he realizes that Eddie doesn’t care much about the car but is more excited over the driving part, he adds to the fantasy and discusses how the losers could hang out in his ride after school days.  
  
Lunch is no exception to the fun. The Losers all sit around in a circle on the grass outside, settling in an unfamiliar spot because, according to Beverly, it’s ‘_too warm outside not to enjoy the sun! My boys stay inside too much anyway.’ _Finally settled, everyone gives Eddie a warm smile, preparing to exchange their gifts.

“I’m first!” Beverly excitedly announces, riffling through her school bag and pulling out a square- shaped box lazily wrapped in newspaper. Eddie smiles, taking the gift from his friend and carefully pulling at the sticky tape. “God, Eddie. Just rip at it, it’s only newspaper.” Beverly giggles and Eddie laughs, too, tearing the wrapping paper carefully so he doesn’t get a cut (because even tiny little paper cuts can get infected and turn in to great, big problems.)  
  
“Damn, Eds! You’re a beast, slow down there!” Eddie rolls his eyes at Richie, gasping when he sees the gift. An array of colours lay in his hands- various nail polishes. He’ll have to hide it under his bed, that’s for sure, but Eddie’s excited to try them on his toenails at least.  
  
“Thank you, Bev. The colours are really pretty.” She bought him a pastel set, which is, admittedly, a beautiful colour palette in his eyes. Eddie loves pastels, he’s always been attracted to their softness (he supposes there’s some irony to be had in the fact that most pills come in pastel colours, too.)  
  
Next, Bill passes his gift over, shuffling next to Beverly and holding her hand once settled. Eddie tries not to overthink his confusion when he notices Beverly untangle their hands in favor of leaning in closer to watch him unwrap his gifts. Because Bill doesn’t seem too bothered himself, Eddie smiles and turns his attention to the nice, baby blue gift in front of him. He knows that Bill has wrapped it himself, because it’s a rather amateur job as far as packaging goes, with telltale crinkles and rips giving him away. Plucking the tape away, Eddie smiles once the gift is unwrapped and a piece of paper rests in his hands. He unfolds it with apprehension, smiling down at Bill’s drawing. Eddie can tell that Bill made it with his nice coloured pencils, the expensive ones with a creamier texture, because it’s vibrant and the colours pop out at him. Smiling back up at Eddie is a picture of the losers, their hands linked. He privately keens at the fact that Richie is the one holding his hand beside him in the drawing.  
  
“Bill, this is amazing.”  
  
“T-thank you, Eddie.” Bill mutters, a pleased expression on his face. Passing the drawing around the circle for everyone to see, he takes Stanley’s meticulously wrapped gift and carefully opens it. Inside is a book that reads: ‘_EDGAR ALLEN POE:_ _A Collection.’ _Eddie never really _has _read poetry before, but he supposes he can give it a try. The book is one of those nice, expensive ones with a fancy cover, and it’s oddly soothing to hold.  
  
“Before you ask,” Stanley begins “I rang Richie to ask what to get and he joked that Edgar Allen Poe was fitting, since your name is Eddie. And, y’know, I think he was kind of on to something even though he was being stupid. The imagery is really beautiful, I gave it a quick read when I bought it.” With a soft nod, Eddie gives Stanley an earnest grin, completely ignoring Richie’s obnoxious snicker.  
  
“I’ll read it before bed every night.” Next is Ben’s gift, which has been wrapped in nice brown paper with a blue bow on top.  
  
“My mom wrapped it.” He explains, watching Eddie pluck away at the tape.  
  
“Hurry up, Eds!” Richie cries, impatient and fed up with watching Eddie unwrap everything.  
  
“It’s my birthday, I can do what I want.” He sticks his tongue out, continuing at his slow pace. He isn’t about to get a paper cut just because Richie can’t wait a few more seconds. Inside is a fanny pack, with an array of band badges cruddily sewn on. Eddie can feel his heart speed up giddily, it looks _really cool_.  
  
“I didn’t know you liked to sew, Ben.” Beverly curiously mentions, which causes Ben to shrug sheepishly.  
  
“I can’t do it very well.” But Eddie can’t help but think that there’s something charming about the uneven stitching.  
  
“How’d you get the badges?”  
  
“Some of them are mine, some of them I bought. But most of them are Richie’s.” Eddie smiles at Richie, who’s leaning back on his hands and grinning like a maniac.  
  
“It was such a cool idea that I _had _to contribute.”  
  
“Ben, this is awesome.” Eddie replies, smiling gently.  
  
“Oh! And my mom made these.” Ben turns around and pulls a plastic tub out of his bag. Inside is an array of cupcakes, all iced in pretty, pastel colours.  
  
“We accidentally made a colour theme.” Beverly whispers to Ben, referencing the nail polishes she had bought. Ben’s ears turn a pinkish colour and he shrugs, smiling to himself.  
  
“Hell yeahhh!” Richie cries, immediately leaping forward and grabbing at one to eat. Everyone laughs, sharing the sweet treats. Eddie tentatively takes one, too, eating it slowly. He isn’t _really_ allowed cupcakes at home, or anything sweet for that matter, and he knows that he shouldn’t care (he probably wouldn’t have a year ago), but when he starts eating he feels his heart racing uncontrollably.  
  
  


The moment he finishes, Eddie excuses himself to the bathroom, just about running as he makes his way there. His heart begins to beat in his throat as he moves, his blood feels clumpy and slow like molasses, and he has to try his best to keep from panicking.  
  
Eddie quickly shuffles in to a stall, locking it shut behind him, and rifles through his fanny pack frantically for an array of pills that will help. He searches through the contents, settling on a couple of vitamins and some Panadol, a bit unsure of how else to calm his beating heart. Eddie thinks about asking his mom to be checked for diabetes absently, but begins to feel nauseous and mad at himself. _Wow, Eddie. Look how brave and grown up you are, now that you’re sixteen. _Clenching the pills in his hand, Eddie shuts the fanny pack and stares down at his shaky hands with wide eyes. He hears the bathroom door open and stifles a gasp by clenching his jaw.  
  
“Eds?”  
  
Eddie sighs.  
  
“Can’t you let a guy pee in peace?” He tries, begging for Richie to leave so he can just _calm down his sugar levels. _There’s more shuffling, and Eddie can see a pair of shoes right in front of the stall.  
  
“You aren’t… throwing up, are you?” Eddie furrows his brows in frustration because _what the fuck?  
  
_“Why would I be doing that?”  
  
“I don’t know… Because you ate cupcakes and you don’t want it in your body anymore?” Eddie gulps at that, staring down at his pills cautiously. _He doesn’t know it, but that’s kind of a good idea_.  
  
“I’m not throwing up. Leave, please.” Richie’s feet don’t move, firmly planted.  
  
“Can I come in?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Please?”  
  
“NO.”  
  
A silence lingers between them, tension hanging in the air. For a moment, Eddie thinks that maybe Richie will finally leave him be, and he’ll be able to take his pills after contemplating whether or not to throw up his cupcakes (the idea is beginning to feel icily _wrong, _so he’s pretty sure he won’t go through with that).  
  
“Then I’ll just stay here.”  
  
“What if I need to pee?”  
  
“_Do_ you need to pee?” Eddie thinks for a moment. _To lie or not to lie, that is the question_.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re lying.”  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
“You pause before you lie so, yeah you are.” Eddie groans, frustrated at Richie for knowing him so well, and gives up, turning the lock open. Cautiously, Richie opens the door and smiles at Eddie, who’s sitting on the toilet and staring in to his hand.  
  
“My heart was beating fast.” He offers as an excuse. Richie nods and swallows a little too hard. Slowly, as if Eddie is a wild animal, he kneels in front of him, looking in to Eddie’s eyes. He holds out his hand, asking for him to give over the pills. Eddie can feel a cold sweat break over his body, aware of the way his legs shake nervously. “I can’t.” Richie sighs, presses his forehead against Eddie’s knees.  
  
“I’m trying my best, Eddie, I really am.” He mutters, refusing to look up. Eddie thinks maybe he’s going to cry.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I know I shouldn’t be so on your ass, because that would make me a hypocrite, but it kills me seeing you like this.”  
  
“I don’t-“  
  
“You can’t be happy, Eds. Living by pills.” He looks back at Eddie.  
  
“I take them for my mom. So that she’s happy.” And it’s a lie. It’s a fucking lie. He knows it, Richie knows it.  
  
“It isn’t your job to please her. Should be the other way ‘round.” Eddie looks at Richie, who is so close that he could kiss his knees, and sighs.  
  
He wouldn’t understand it, of course he wouldn’t. His mom _needs _Eddie, she’s lonely all the time and worries when he doesn’t take his pills. Eddie is work enough, heading out on a weekly basis. But these are things he doesn’t tell Richie, because he doesn’t know how to. Instead, he just hands the pills over and makes a mental note to double his vitamin intake tomorrow to make up for it. Richie smiles at Eddie and flushes the medicine down the toilet when they file out.

Eddie turns sixteen alone, lying in bed. His mom doesn’t get him any gifts, because she was _‘too tired to buy anything’ _all week_. _He doesn’t get any cake because ‘_too much sugar will give him a heart attack’ _and he definitely doesn’t get to make any wishes by blowing out the candles, because his mom will probably faint if he’s around fire.  
  
Before heading to bed to call it a night, Eddie decides to swing around the lounge room and talk to his mom. The whole interaction is probably what makes him _most _upset that night, funnily enough, because it seems to emphasize everything Richie has been trying to convey but Eddie has been actively ignoring.  
  
“Hey momma?”  
  
“Yes, Eddie-bear?” Eddie smiles at his mom, bouncing on his feet a little, excited to finally bring up what he’s been thinking about all day.  
  
“Would I be able to get my driving license, now that I’m sixteen?” Eddie isn’t quite sure what he expected. Leading up to this moment, he thought that maybe he’d have to do some nagging, some lying to get a yes, but he didn’t _quite _anticipate what comes next.  
  
“No!” His mom screams, leaping up from her chair. It’s almost comedic how upset she sounds “God no, Eddie! What if you _crash_!? Do you really want to do that to me? Do you want to leave me too, just like your dad!?” His mom is scrambling towards him, desperately grabbing at his wrists, and Eddie’s heart is racing because he’s panicking just seeing her so anxious.  
  
“But…”  
  
“Oh, Eddieeee! Don’t leave me, I don’t want you to die, too!” She holds his face tight, staring deep in to his eyes, and all Eddie can do is swallow thickly, feeling sick and being desperate for an escape.

  
  
He goes straight to bed after that and wipes the thoughts of cars right from his mind. He thinks that maybe he wants to cry. He’s not sure why, really. But an overwhelming sense of _missing out _bubbles across his mind.

Mike gives Eddie a wood carving of a flower that Friday as a late birthday gift, it’s really pretty. Eddie wishes he could put it on his dresser and look at it every day, but the ends of the petals are sharp and he knows his mom would panic if she saw it, so it stays beneath his bed with all the other gifts.

* * *

  
“Hey ma, would I be able to stay back at Richie’s tonight?” The two boys are standing in the doorway, backpacks swung around their shoulders. The usual meet up Friday night was cancelled since the rest of the losers had other things on, so Richie and Eddie decided at lunch time that the next best course of action was to hang out alone in his place instead (‘_Besides, Spaghetti, a Riche and Eddie party is the best kind!’_). Eddie watches his mom carefully, noticing the way she wrinkles her nose at Richie.  
  
“My parents are making salad, Mrs. K, really want Eddie to try it.” It’s a stupid lie, but Richie has improved his game since the whole _laughing- with- God_ incident, so it comes out convincing. Eddie gives Richie a flicker of something appreciative when he forces a polite smile across at his mom.  
  
“Do you have all your pills?” She asks Eddie, ignoring Richie.  
  
“Of course, ma.”  
  
“You’ll be supervised all night?” Eddie nods, smiling.  
  
She waves him over for a kiss on the cheek. As Eddie leans in to say goodbye, she grabs his wrist. “Be careful, honey. That boy is trouble.” She hisses in to his ear. Eddie gulps, smiling at his mom, and kisses her cheek tentatively. When he turns around, Richie gives him a ‘_what the fuck?’ _look, but Eddie just furrows his brows and shoos him to the door. The two boys are out of the house in a matter of minutes.

Richie is chewing a wad of minty chewing gum. As they walk, Eddie tries his best not to think about the fact that it’s a signifier that he had been smoking before school, since that thought both makes him hopelessly angry _and _flustered. On one hand, it agitates him because _what the fuck, Richard, stop smoking. _But he’s also trying to hide the smell with mint for Eddie, because he knows it bothers him. That thought makes him feel much happier, but it also makes his heart race and cheeks burn, so he settles on looking down at the sidewalk rather than staring at his mouth.  
  
“It’s funny how much you mom hates me, Eds. Because when you’re not around she can’t get enough of this.” Eddie rolls his eyes.  
  
“Don’t call me Eds, and she doesn’t hate you.”  
  
“She kind of does.” Eddie shakes his head because _of course she doesn’t. _Richie is Eddie’s best friend, so there’s no reason for her to _actually _hate him, she just worries that he’s getting in to trouble. Richie gives Eddie a sideways look, one of utter disbelief. Eddie frowns and tightens his lips, challenging him right back wordlessly. It’s like they’re having an childish argument with their faces, Richie’s eye rolls saying ‘_she so does’ _and Eddie’s scowls screaming ‘_does not’ _like a pair of bickering toddlers. Eventually, Richie gives up, shrugging as if to say ‘_if you’re sure, Eddie.’ _  
  
“Are your parents home?” Eddie asks, forcing a topic change because thinking about his mom is starting to make him uncomfortable.  
  
“Nope! We’ve got the whole place to ourselves. We can have as much rough, loud, gay sex as possible.” Richie grins, chewing on his gum.  
  
“Richie!” Eddie whispers, feeling his face rush hot because _God, don’t talk about that stuff in public. _Richie throws his head back and laughs but Eddie doesn’t join in, because he’s too distracted thinking about Richie’s words. Sex. With Richie. Gross… But Eddie can’t really stop thinking about it. He watches Richie laugh and looks at his lips, which are chewed up and honestly as uninviting as lips can be, and he wonders what it’d be like kissing them.  
  
He stops pretty much as soon as the thought pops in his head though, because he’s never wanted to kiss anyone before. Richie smiles at Eddie. He averts his gaze immediately and walks in silence, trying to calm down his burning cheeks and buzzing heart.

  
  
“Which colours do you want?”  
  
“Hmm,” Richie taps his fingers on his chin, looking at his choices. Eddie brought the nail polishes Beverly gifted him to the sleepover since Richie _begged _(whined, more like) him to paint his gnobbly, bitten up nails all week. Eddie isn’t really sure _why _he wants them painted, since the idea of someone seeing- specifically his mom- is enough to make him shrivel up in embarrassment. But, of course, Richie’s a persistent little shit, so Eddie gave up and packed the polishes. Anything to shut him up is a blessing, really. “This pink is cool.”   
  
“I didn’t think you’d pick pink.” Eddie states, pulling it from the plastic pack carefully. With a dramatic gasp, Richie bats his thick eyelashes, lip puffed out in a pouty gesture.  
  
“Why not!? Maybe I want to look pretty, Eds, just like you.” Eddie rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his heartbeat speeds up at the mention of being pretty. He knows it’s a joke, but the idea warms his heart none-the-less. Eddie hasn’t exactly been called attractive like, ever, so it’s a great boost to his non-existent ego. Uncapping the polish, Eddie lets the comment slide like it’s nothing, even though he feels like jelly after the compliment. ‘_Pretty’ _just feels so much more real, so much more genuine, than the usual ‘_cute’ _that Richie offers.  
  
“Give me your hands, and keep still.” With a nod, Richie shuffles closer on the bed so his knees bump with Eddie’s, holding out his hand with his fingers ridiculously stretched apart. Sheepishly, Eddie holds his hand and moves it to his thigh so he can keep comfortably still. With much apprehension, his fingers relax and fall against Eddie’s warm skin. The touch is like fire, but Richie remains completely relaxed and statue-like, barely moving as Eddie pinches his eyes and concentrates on the job at hand. Trying a glance up, Eddie can _swear _he sees Richie flicker his gaze back down, as if he had been staring straight at him, but he can’t tell so he lets it go.   
  
“You’re really good at this.” Richie whispers. With a warm smile, Eddie gestures for Richie to swap hands.  
  
“Better than you, anyway.” Richie pokes his tongue out playfully, not quite disagreeing because he _knows he’s probably bad at painting nails. _   
  
“You should let me do yours, too.” Eddie immediately, without even taking the time to think it through, shakes his head. He sticks his tongue out in the corner of his mouth, wrapped up on concentrating because he wants to do a good job with Richie’s nails (he’s probably trying a little _too hard _not to mess up).  
  
“Not my hands.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Mom would kill me.”  
  
“Well, that’s stupid.” Eddie looks up at Richie, who seems annoyed, and shrugs.  
  
“Boys in Derry don’t usually paint their nails, Rich.”  
  
“Well that’s stupid, too.” Eddie laughs and nods, capping up the polish.  
  
“That’s just how things work here.” Richie scrunches his face up disapprovingly and Eddie grins back. _Yeah, it’s shit. _  
  
“Can I do your toenails, at least?” Eddie looks up at Richie, who has his hands fanned out in front of him so he doesn’t ruin his nails while they dry, and feels his breath hitch. There’s something strangely intimate about the idea of that: Richie holding his feet, looking down at his little toes.  
  
“Isn’t that kind of gross?” He asks. He supposes it kind of _is, _because lots of people’s feet smell, but Richie just shrugs.  
  
“Not if they’re your feet.” Eddie gulps, turning a shade of red as he nods and pulls out the blue and white colours. He knows what Richie means, he doesn’t mind if it’s Eddie because he’s obsessive about hygiene and there’s no way in hell his feet could ever be gross, but the implications make him buzz with affection anyway. It’s almost as if Richie said ‘_you could never be gross to me’, _but Eddie bites that thought down because it’s a weird thing to contemplate.  
  
“Can you alternate them?”  
  
“Sure!”  
  
Peeling off his socks, Eddie carefully places his feet on the bed in front of Richie.  
  
“You’ve got such cute little feet, Eds!”  
  
“Shut up.” Richie jumps off the bed with probably _too much _vigor, kneeling by the edge and motioning for him to scooch over.  
  
Eddie can’t help but notice how light Richie’s touch is, almost even ticklish, when he takes his foot in to his big hands to get better access. Sitting in Richie’s palm, Eddie’s foot looks _tiny, _and he’s almost even embarrassed by it. He half expects him to make some stupid comment like ‘_you know what they say about small feet, Eds’ _but it never comes. The nail polish is cold when it touches him, but the sensation fades when he catches himself distracted by something else.  
  
Richie doesn’t look up once, which is probably a bad thing because Eddie needs a distraction just about now. He can’t stop looking at his friend, who’s wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt and jeans combo. It’s a look that has become so distinctly Richie that Eddie is sure he isn’t capable of wearing literally anything else. _He probably has a wardrobe like a cartoon character’s, _Eddie thinks, _the same outfit lined up fifty times over. _  
  
Eddie looks at Richie’s neck, the pale expanse of skin there, and wonders how soft his flesh is, wonders if he smells more boyish or sweeter at the point where his shoulder and neck meet.  
  
He looks at his face, which really has become quite handsome over the years. His jaw is much wider now, broad and masculine, sharper, too. He’s long since replaced his comical, thick glasses for a similar pair with a thinner frame, and Eddie supposes he’ll start wearing contact lenses soon. He isn’t sure if he’ll look better without those iconic glasses, but he sure as hell likes how he looks right now, with those pretty eyes slightly enlarged through the glass. Looking in to Richie’s eyes is sometimes like looking at a whole other world, a happy dimension that makes Eddie giggle. He’s always so animated and lively, watching his gaze twitch around a room his kind of hypnotic.  
  
Eddie watches Richie paint his nails and he can’t help but think that he’s attractive. Much better looking than Eddie anyway, who has thankfully lost his baby fat, but still hasn’t grown much yet.  
  
Richie looks up at Eddie, breaking his train of thought (crashing head first in to it, more like). He stares in to those friendly eyes and feels his heart sink, so he looks down at his feet instead. With a tight smile, he lets a chuckle bubble through his throat. _God, Richie sucks at this. _Polish spills off of his nails and on to his skin messily in a chaotic, almost even grizzly scene. Eddie doesn’t mind it much, because it’s Richie who made that mess, and there’s something endearing about that.  
  
“You fucking suck at this.” He says, despite the thoughts running in his head. He’s pretty sure that if he opens his mouth and says ‘_hey, this looks like shit, but I still love it because when I look down at my toes, I’ll be reminded of you.’, _he’ll just about die, so the cruel spit is probably the better option. Richie laughs, jumping back up on the bed and sitting next to Eddie.  
  
“I never said I was _good _at painting nails.”  
  
“No shit.” Eddie mutters, suddenly aware of the heat on his cheeks. 

Eddie honest-to-god couldn’t tell you how things got here, but Richie is jumping on his bed like a madman, music blasting from his tape player at full volume as he chucks gummy worms in to his mouth endlessly in an effort to feed his manic high with sugar. Eddie sits in the middle of the room, smiling up at his friend as he leaps and bounds around him, giggling to himself giddily.   
  
He’s on the floor and pouring skittles in to his mouth carelessly. It took a lot of convincing to get him to eat any of the snacks, because Eddie kept telling Richie that he _refused _to dump that shit in to his body. But then his favorite candy, the holy skittles, were pulled from the kitchen cabinet and the rest was history. Eddie is pretty sure Richie bought skittles on purpose, because he knows Eddie would refuse to eat candy otherwise, but he doesn’t really mind, because he’s having so much fun right now.  
  
The next track plays, the first note ringing through the atmosphere. Eddie immediately looks up at Richie, who has an equally intense look on his face.  
  
“_Doo doo doo doo dah doo doo bahhhh…” _  
  
“Eddie.” Richie is smiling at him wide, his eyes pinning him down.  
  
“Richie.” He repeats, eye contact hardly wavering.  
  
“Dance. With. Me.” And how can Eddie say no? He’s up on the bed with Richie before he can even think.  
  
_Africa _isn’t even that energetic of a song, but they’re jumping around anyway. Eddie feels so _free _like this. Richie grabs at Eddie’s hands and they twist on the bed, giggling all the while, mouthing the lyrics as they do.  
  
Eddie feels like his body is on _fire_, and he wants more. He wants to burn until he’s warm right to his core because _this _is what it feels like to be alive. Richie grabs at Eddie’s hips, dips him dramatically, Eddie swings his leg back scandalously like a middle aged foxy woman doing the tango because he really isn’t thinking. For a moment, Richie just holds him there, the music in the background fading as if it means nothing, and stares in to Eddie’s eyes.  
  
But Eddie is too excited for any of that, so he’s up and running around again, feeling puffy. But he isn’t having an asthma attack, _oh no, quite the opposite._ Richie laughs at him when Eddie gets on his knees and dramatically sings: ‘_It’s gonna take a lot to drag me awayyyy from youuuu’ _towards the roof, as if preaching gospel. He supposes this is just as important, because Eddie is in his best friend’s bedroom and he’s dancing to _their song, _and he’s sweating and breathless but he feels good, really fucking good. He’s breathless, and for the first time in a long time, that doesn’t make him worry. If anything, it makes him smile more, calms him in some weird, backwards way.  
  
Eddie loves this. He spins Richie around, screams the lyrics carelessly, continues to dance when Richie sits on the edge of his bed and settles on watching. By the end of the whole ordeal, they’re both out of breath and sweaty. Eddie flops back on Richie’s bed, giggling, while his friend hops down to grab a handful of M&M’s.  
  
“I swear, Eddie, _Africa _by Toto unleashes something in you.” He laughs at that, because it’s kind of true.  
  
“Only because it’s the best song in the fucking world.”  
  
“Amen.” Richie agrees, sitting cross legged on his bed. Eddie sits up, sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead.  
  
“What time is it?”  
  
“Too early for bed, we should play truth or dare or something.” Eddie laughs.  
  
“You always pick dare though.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, because I’m not a pussy.” Eddie shakes his head, smiling.  
  
“We should just play _dare, _then.” Richie grins wider.  
  
“That sounds like a terrible idea. Let’s do it.”   
  
“Alright then. I dare you to give me those M&M’s.’ Eddie points at the candy clutched around Richie’s fingers. He laughs but pours them in to his open hand anyway, privately proud of Eddie’s shameless desire to eat sugar.  
  
“That’s not really how you’re supposed to play.” Eddie tips his head back and chucks the chocolate in his mouth, crunching down on the candy’s hard shell. The delicious taste of chocolate cools his tongue immediately, making him dopily smile as if he’s high.  
  
“Who are you, the dare police?” He retorts mid-chew.  
  
“Fine, fine. Waste your turn, then. I dare you to drink hot sauce.” Eddie looks at Richie wide-eyed.  
  
“You’re cruel.” He whispers, already getting up to grab the condiment. Richie follows him down to the kitchen.

Needless to say, it isn’t pleasant. Eddie takes a nervous sip of the stuff, and he’s already pulling away and coughing over the counter frantically. Richie laughs as he wretches, but pours him a glass of water anyway, helping him sooth the burning sensation down his throat.  
  
“Alright, that’s it, ‘Chee. We’re getting serious now.” Richie laughs, leaning against the counter.  
  
“You sound like you’re going to kill me.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry. I will,” Eddie starts, faking anger. Richie shakes his head, snickering “I dare you to lick the soap bar in your shower.”

Richie, the absolute mad lad, smiles at Eddie and takes a _bite _of the soap. Eddie thinks he might gag watching. Richie’s spluttering all over the floor and spitting out soap chunks. It is, in theory, kind of gross. But Eddie’s laughing so hard that he’s clutching his sides, so it’s worth it.  
  
“Who’s the Trashmouth, now?” Richie asks once he’s rinsed his mouth out. “Prank call Stanley.”

So they lean over Richie’s home phone, heads pressed together so they can both hear, and laugh in to their hands when it rings.  
  
“Hello?” Eddie holds in a chuckle.  
  
“Betty, is that you?” Eddie asks, mocking a deep voice.  
  
“Sorry, you must have the wrong number.” Stanley tiredly calls in to his phone.  
  
“Betty, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said the other day. Please, take me back-“ Stanley hangs up. Richie and Eddie giggle for a solid ten minutes, finding the whole ordeal _hilarious _even though it’s honestly not that funny.  
  


  
The boys sit back in Richie’s room now, smiling at each other. Eddie is waiting tentatively for his friend to give him a dare. A softer song plays through Richie’s tape player; a romance song, something that Eddie would be more likely to listen to than Richie. It’s nice, he likes it.  
  
“Okay, I’ve got a dare.” Eddie sits up straighter, smiling.  
  
“Alright.” For a moment, Eddie thinks he sees Richie bite his lip, but it’s such a quick action that he barely notices it. Instead, he spreads his arms and legs wide.  
  
“C’mere.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I dare you to cuddle me, Eds. Now C’mere.” Richie smiles at Eddie with big, chocolate eyes. He isn’t sure why he’s so breathless, because it really isn’t _that big of a deal_, but he’s never… _cuddled _before. Like, ever. And yeah, Richie _has_ always been kind of touchy, but they’ve never hugged before, really, or done anything like that. Eddie feels kind of stupid sitting there and gulping on nothing, because honestly, _it isn’t a big deal.  
  
_He swallows his fears down, wondering why the fuck he’s so _sweaty_, and wriggles in between his friend’s legs. Richie’s long arms pull Eddie closer to his chest, and it’s surprisingly warm there. Eddie is hyper aware of everything. He can faintly smell Richie’s cigarette smoke, but he also smells like mint and candy. There’s another scent underlying it all, this distinctly _boy _smell. Eddie nuzzles against Richie’s neck, curling further in to him. He’s never done this before, but it’s nice, comforting. Richie’s chin rests on his head, and his embrace is so soothing. The closest Eddie’s ever been to this is hugging his mom, but it’s not the same, because her arms are always stiff and rigid and whenever she touches him, it’s more like she’s _pulling _him or _dragging _him. He’s known that touching someone can be like this, soothing and gentle, obviously, but he’s never experienced it, so Eddie lets his anxieties unfold.  
  
“This is nice.” He sighs in to Richie’s chest. He doesn’t think he’s actually _said _anything until Richie replies with a little, affirming mumble. Eddie is faintly aware that it’s probably been too long, he’s definitely cuddled long enough for the dare to be complete, but he doesn’t want to pull away- Richie is _so comforting_, so he doesn’t. He just sinks in to his touch, gentle music serenading the two of them.  
  
He’s hyper aware of everything. They both have short sleeves on and their arms brush together above the elbow. Richie is surprisingly soft there. Eddie thinks that maybe he could die like this, die in Richie’s arms, and he’d be at peace. Because _this? This is perfect.  
  
_Richie is the first to pull away, but he doesn’t really move too much, more just adjusts himself so they can talk and look at one another. Eddie leans against Richie, far too content to leave the warmth of his embrace_.  
  
_“We should sleep.” Richie whispers. Eddie smiles at Richie softly and nods because _yeah, he is kind of tired. _So they pull away. And he’s suddenly feeling _much _colder sitting alone, but he tries to ignore it, instead watching Richie shuffle around and set up the blow up mattress for him.

* * *

Stanley Uris has a girlfriend.  
  
Her name is Patricia, which Richie jokes about ‘sounding like an old lady’s name’. When he told her this, she laughed with Richie and agreed, so that’s kind of how the losers knew she’d fit in just fine. She sits with them at lunch sometimes and holds Stan’s hand under the table, but she’s usually with another group of girls who seem so different to the losers that it’s a wonder how they even got together. They’re a giggly bunch, all they ever talk about is the new earrings they’ve bought, what grade they got on their assignment or some boy on the track team who they’re too nervous to ask out. And Eddie thinks it’s kind of superficial, but Patty isn’t like that so he doesn’t mind.  
  
It’s just strange to him, since he’d always thought Stanley would get a girlfriend well after high school. But they met at church and very quickly went from blushing across the hallway to kissing each other’s cheeks goodbye. It’s all well and good. Eddie’s happy for him, really he is, but he can’t help but notice a similar trend amongst his friends.  
  
Ben’s been talking to some girl in P.E for weeks now, Beverly and Bill are a couple, Mike gets plenty of attention with his more muscular build (a lot of girls call him ‘that mysterious boy from the farm’. “_He’s so cute, that mysterious boy from the farm. Look at his big shoulders.” “Yeah, but he hangs out with Eddie Kaspbrak, the weird queer boy, so how great can he be?”_) Half of their conversations are about girls nowadays, and Eddie just doesn’t seem to get it. Even Richie, who has always seemed kind of sexless and remarkably asexual to him, has escalated to pointing out girls. Sometimes, he talks to them in the halls. Sometimes, the girls walk away. But sometimes they talk back and twirl their hair and laugh through glossed up, cherry flavored lips. Here’s the thing about Richie Tozier: He’s weird as all hell and he’s never really been that popular, but he’s getting more and more handsome and his social life is starting to show it.  
  
God, Eddie would never tell his friends this, but he feels like he’s falling behind. Sometimes, their tightly knitted group of 6 at the cafeteria becomes a group of 3 or 2, and everyone else is busy talking to other friends. It’s a gradual kind of change, but Eddie knows that by next year, they will be hanging out somewhere else _with _someone else on their Friday nights and it’s _killing him.  
  
_His friends might not notice it, because they’re too busy getting popular, but Eddie’s social life is on a steady decline. He’ll pass his peers in the halls and pick up on little whispers of ‘_fag_’ and ‘_queer_´ and _‘freak_’. He tries his best not to think that they’re talking about him, but when he hears the words ‘_girly little fanny pack_’ being passed around, he already knows that he’s the target of gossip. Sometimes, Eddie just wants to swing around and scream “_I’m not a fag! I watch girls all the time and jack off to the thought of boobs on the daily!_” but he doesn’t. Both because he’s too scared, and because he knows that he’d be lying.  
  
Eddie isn’t a queer, he doesn’t think, but he definitely doesn’t think about girls and that’s starting to become a point of concern for him.

* * *

  
Walking across the street, Eddie listens to the gradual tapping of his feet on the pavement and follows a familiar route. He’s on his way, as per usual, to top up his meds. His mind wondering, he looks down at the order form he’s been holding tight. In neat, typed out letters, the notice informs him that he’s on his way to grab aspirin, vitamins, advil, stuff to help his heart, help his bowel movements, calm his heart rates, a bunch of other medications that can only be identified through a confusing combination of numbers and letters.  
  
Eddie pushes open the pharmacy door, listening to the tinkle of its bell, and heads straight to the counter to check in his order. No one is in the store, and he figures that Mr. Keene’s working somewhere in the back. Sighing, Eddie taps tentatively on the bell sitting in front of him and waits to be assisted.  
  
Mr. Keene doesn’t walk out from behind the closed door labelled ‘_staff_’, though. Instead, it’s Greta, the pharmacist’s daughter, who exits. She wears a staff uniform and Eddie figures that her dad hired her to work on weekends. He sighs outwardly, avoiding eye contact.  
  
Greta isn’t very nice to Eddie. In fact, she isn’t very nice to Beverly, either. Sure, her bullying has calmed down this year since Bev has been getting more popular, but he can still remember when she would spread rumors about her ‘getting around’ with other boys. None of it was true, Eddie knew this, and it didn’t seem to bother his friend, but he still doesn’t like to associate with her. He wasn’t completely victimless to her bullying either. After all, she _was _the one who lied to him about his pills.  
  
“You got an order?” She asks, chewing lazily on her trademark gum. Eddie nods, pushing the paper slip in his hands across the desk. She picks it up, wrinkles her nose. “Not that I care, but you’re still taking these?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” Eddie huffs, crossing his arms. He tries to look confident, sure of himself, but all he can feel is a nervousness running through his body.  
  
“Even though they’re fake?” She’s chewing loudly. It’s annoying as all hell.  
  
“No they’re not.” Eddie simply replies, nodding at the form in her hands as if to say ‘_hurry up._’ Greta seems pissed but gives him a passive-aggressive smile anyway, at least having the sense to maintain a professional, customer-service disposition.  
  
“Then why do you need to come up to the counter to get vitamins?” She crosses her arms smugly. _She has a point, _a voice in the back of Eddie’s head says, it sounds an awful lot like Richie.  
  
“You’re lying.” Greta shrugs back at him, rolling her eyes.  
  
“See for yourself.” There’s a bitterness in those words. She stomps in to the staff room. When she returns, she has a large document in her hands. It makes a loud ‘_thwump_’ sound when it hits the counter. She turns away again, as if she couldn’t care less if Eddie looked or not, and starts to shuffle through the pharmacy to find the items on his list. For a moment, he thinks about leaving the papers there, because picking them up almost feels like he’s losing whatever the hell it is he’s doing with Greta right now. But then he sees his name on top of the file, in big capital letters, ‘_EDDIE “EDWARD” KASPBRAK’ _and it’s in his hands immediately.  
  
He flips through quickly, as if he expects his mom to storm in any moment and catch him, but slows once he finds the ingredients section. Fuck double-takes, Eddie has to do a quadrupole take because _what the fuck. _All of his medications, from those damned vitamins right down to the stuff he uses in his aspirator, have the same ingredients: _sugar, starch and saline. _Eddie knows what sugar is: _bullshit_. He knows what starch is: _more bullshit_. And he definitely knows what saline is: _bullshit that tastes like medicine_. He feels his stomach drop, a sickening nausea take over him. And usually, Eddie would blame that on his weak little body, but he flips to his medical record page and the words ‘_no known illnesses_’ inform him that it’s just a (ha!) placebo.   
  
His thoughts are broken when Greta places his pills in front of him, smiling wide because she’s enjoying watching Eddie’s life crumble. He gulps hard, tears threatening to well in his eyes. _Come right up, _Eddie absently thinks, _to the Kaspbrak circus! Watch and marvel as this idiotic child realizes that everything he’s ever known is a lie! _God, if he didn’t believe that before, he sure as hell can’t deny this.  
  
“These are real?” He whimpers, unable to think clearly. Greta simply taps at the stamp on top of the paper. Eddie stares at the signatures on the front, transfixed on the loopy movements of his mom’s handwriting. _His mom’_s handwriting. Because she had signed that paper, she approved this. He gulps and takes all the pill bottles and medicinal boxes that Greta brought in his arms, squeezing them tight to keep from falling to his knees in defeat. He turns on his heels, fumbling to throw them in his fanny pack, and clenches his jaw when he hears Greta cheerily yell:  
  
“_Have a nice day!” _  
  


  
Eddie storms over to Richie’s house hurriedly. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the yelling coming from the house, doesn’t notice Richie’s dad’s car in the drive. He’s climbing the stairs before he can even think, and when he knocks on the door, he tries to imagine that he’s punching his mom in the face. He has to wait a while for a response, but Eddie doesn’t mind. He’ll wait _all fucking day _if he has to because _hey! He’s already wasted most of his life anyway, so what’s another couple seconds? _He waits for Richie’s stupid face to show up so he can breathe, because he’s pretty sure his fist has been balled up the whole way there.  
  
The door opens, but Richie isn’t greeting him. Instead, his dad stands there in a neatly trimmed suit.  
  
“Hello, Eddie.” He greets, smiling. Eddie knows that he probably _should _pretend he isn’t pissed off, but he’s too wrapped up in his thoughts to unclench his jaw.  
  
“Is Richie home?” He blurts out instead. Mr. Tozier doesn’t seem to notice the restraint in his voice, which really is a good thing.  
  
“I’ll go get him.” And then the door is shut on Eddie’s face. He blinks at the wood sitting in front of him, it’s kind of strange that he wouldn’t just leave the door open. It is in this weak moment of confusion that Eddie notices the sound of muffled, raised voices from inside the house. He winces, because the voices are squeaking and restraining from screaming so loud. He can’t think much about it, because before he has the time to, the door is reopened and Richie is standing there, face red. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs at Eddie’s wrist.  
  
“Do you think you can run?” He asks, voice puffy. Eddie isn’t sure what’s happening, but the wild look in his friend’s eyes are enough to calm him down from the hot anger he’d only just been feeling.  
  
“Yeah?” Suddenly, he’s being pulled away from the house. He has to jog so that he doesn’t fall over, but that quickly turns in to a sprint. Eddie turns around. The door is wide open, and Mrs. Tozier is standing on the front lawn with a bottle of something alcoholic in her hand.

The two boys run and they don’t stop. At one point, Richie pauses and asks Eddie if he needs his aspirator because his breath is sounding wheezy, but he just shouts ‘_FUCK my aspirator’ _and that seems to be enough, because their legs are pumping right after that. It’s only when they reach The Barrens and climb their way through bush and wildlife to hide in comfortable safety, that Richie lets Eddie’s wrist go and breathes. Eddie leans over, sucking deep breaths in to his (perfectly fine and completely non-asthmatic) lungs while his friend falls back on a rock and grabs at a stitch on his side. Slowly, Eddie makes his way next to Richie and thinks about the fact that he caught his breath much sooner than the other boy. _It’s because you’re healthy, _his head tells him, and Eddie actually listens to it because yeah, it’s true.  
  
“So why did we run, anyway?” Eddie asks, watching as Richie wipes sweat from his glasses.  
  
“Parents.” He smiles. Eddie nods slowly. _Parents. _He angrily kicks at a rock hard with a hearty ‘_umph!’ _and watches it soar in the air before plopping in a stream of water.  
  
“Poor rock.” Richie says, grinning.  
  
“Who gives a shit about rocks?” Eddie spits, feeding his anger.  
  
“Look, if you’re mad at me, I get it because-“  
  
“Oh my god, Beep fucking _Beep _Richie,” Eddie angrily yells. He wants Richie to know that he isn’t mad _at him_, but he doesn’t want to calm down either “I was pretending that was my mom’s fucking _shins, _just so you know.”  
  
“You’re scary when you’re mad.” Richie laughs thickly, shuffling closer to Eddie and studying his face.  
  
“You wanna know something?” Eddie starts. He doesn’t wait for Richie to reply, just rips at his fanny pack and pulls out his aspirator “This does nothing. It’s bullshit. Don’t need it,” He isn’t done yet. He pulls out a freshly bought box of vitamins “You know who needs to take vitamins from behind the counter!? Fucking _no one_, that’s who. Because the only vitamins that come behind the counter are the fake kind,” he pulls out two bottles at once, they clank against the rock “Those? Oh, yeah. They’re made of _fucking sugar. _I’ve been banned from candy but little did I know, I was just fixing my sugar levels with _more_ fucking sugar,” He huffs bitterly, turning his fanny back upside down and watching as an array of colours clink out “It’s all _bullshit. _I’ve spent my whole stupid fucking life thinking that I’m weak and lesser than everyone else and _guess what, ‘Chee_. Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. Me. Except for how gullible I’ve been, maybe.” Eddie’s face is red and hot with anger, his veins pump _energy _all through his body. He looks down at all the pills that have been poured out between them, those _fucking pill_s, with such distain. His gaze hovers up to Richie’s face. He’s smiling, funnily enough; a big, bright grin. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles.  
  
“I have never seen you so angry before.” He can only whisper. Eddie huffs.  
  
“Angry? Fuck that, I’m _seething_.” Richie grins wider and picks up his aspirator, turns it in his hands, presses it against Eddie’s palm.  
  
“Throw it.”  
  
And Eddie does. He fucking tosses that bullshit piece of plastic with as much force as he can manage. It’s gone before he can even think because he wants that shit as far away as possible. It’s therapeutic, euphoric. He picks up a bottle of pills and smiles back at Richie before tossing that, too. And before the two of them know it, they’re _both_ throwing everything. Bottles, packets, pills… It all goes _flying_. Eddie feels a hidden weight on his shoulders lift as he lets go of years of _lies _and _bullshit. _He’s throwing and throwing and he feels _so_ fucking alive. He feels like he could do _anything_. He hasn’t felt this way since he was fourteen and the losers defeated _It. _His heart is on fire, his is chest tight and he relishes the pain, drinks it in. It feels _so fucking good. _Pain has never felt better.  
  
When everything is gone, littered around The Barrens, Eddie finally feels himself _breathe. _Richie is watching him, he can see in his peripheral vision, and he lets him stare all he likes. Because _yeah, Richie, take it all in. I’m a whole new fucking person now. _He grins stupidly, staring up at the sky. _Take it all in. _

And, just like that, Eddie goes from the nervous, pill-taking boy he had been at the beginning of the year to _something different_ entirely.  
  
It starts with his smaller rebellions: Mike’s gift to him sits proudly on his dresser and his mom panics that it’ll stab him, so Eddie grabs the damn thing and throws it right against his wrist to prove that he’s fine. He starts inviting Richie over despite his mother’s protests, and they stay cooped up in his room _with the door shut. _Suddenly, his nail polishes are out and in full display. His mom goes red at the cheeks and cries that Eddie is going to be a _queer_, she even throws them in the trash can. But he doesn’t give a single shit. The moment her back is turned, Eddie reaches in the bin, hardly caring about the germs festering in there, and stomps back up to his room to proudly display them. When his mom disagrees with him heading out, Eddie sneaks out his bedroom window.  
  
It’s a gradual kind of change, because Eddie isn’t quite ready yet to just turn to his mom and say ‘_you ruined my life and I fucking hate you.’ _He thinks it, though. He takes a silent kind of joy in watching the way his mom looks across at his nail polishes whenever they appear in his bedroom again, despite her throwing them out. And it’s worth it, the quiet change. It’s _so fucking worth it. _

* * *

The losers have never been on Mike’s farm before. So, naturally, they’re excited.  
  
It’s 4.00, just after school, and Eddie’s hastily scrawling a half-assed letter to his mom and dropping it by the front door. He has never been on a farm before, so he’s not sure what to expect. He’s a little nervous that the animals will give him some kind of disease, but he’s pushing the thought in the back of his mind as soon as he’s squeezed in to Ben’s mom’s van and sitting next to Richie. Stanley’s parents are driving him, Patty and Bill there, so the van houses the remaining losers. Beverly sits behind Ben, having a conversation between him and his mom about school and her growing interest in fashion. Eddie’s in the middle, Richie’s legs are pressed right against his because they’re too long to stretch out in front (Eddie isn’t complaining though) and they’re talking about farm animals. They’ve started a little game, which Richie has ingeniously named '_have you seen?_’ and Eddie is _excited. _  
  
“Have you seen a cow before?” He asks, and Eddie nods his head.  
  
“Once, in a field. I’ve never touched one though.”  
  
“You’ve never touched your mom before? That’s sad.” He mock pouts, and Eddie rolls his eyes.  
  
“Ask me another one.”  
  
“Okay, hmm… Have you seen a pig before?”  
  
“Not in person.” Richie opens his eyes wide.  
  
“Really!?” Eddie laughs.  
  
“Really.” He mirrors, beaming.  
  
“Eddie, you’re going to _die. _They’re like, fuzzy.” Richie is smiling _so wide _at Eddie and it’s only feeding his jittery happiness more.  
  
Eddie is going to a farm. A real, actual farm. He could just _pinch himself_, he’s so excited.  
  


_Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit. _Eddie leans over Richie, pressing his face against his window, and stares out at the expanse of fields, his heart hammering in his chest. _They’re here_. At a _farm. Eddie is at a fucking farm. _The moment the van halts, Eddie is unbuckling his seatbelt and undoing Richie’s, too, so he can get off his ass and let him step on to the _fucking farm._  
  
“Jesus. Slow down, Eds.” Richie says between giggles. Eddie pushes Richie up and out of the van excitedly.  
  
“Let me _oouuuutt_!” He sings, jumping on to the dirt of Mike’s driveway. He hops on the spot as if he needs to pee, anxiously watching as Beverly gets out the van and Ben kisses his mom goodbye.  
  
“Calm down, Eddie.” Beverly giggles, smiling at him because there’s something kind of entertaining about how ecstatic he is. Eddie shakes his head because _he can’t. _He looks towards Mike’s house. It’s a small cottage, made of stone and wood. Next to it is what Eddie’s more interested in: A barn. He wonders if there are horses in there. He takes a deep breath in and a distinct _freshness _fills his lungs.  
  
“The air is so crisp here.” He says, smiling.  
  
“It smells like shit.” Richie corrects, tucking his hands in to his ripped, black jean’s pockets. He isn’t lying, there is a faint aroma of manure in the air, but there’s also something kind of freeing about it. There’s this distinct feeling of _hey asshole, you’re in the country now! You’re as far away from your mom as possible! Breathe!  
  
_“It’s freeing.” He mutters.  
  
“Amen to that.” Beverly agrees, following Ben up the drive and towards Mike’s house. Richie turns to Eddie, silently asking if he’s gonna join them. He takes one more, lingering gaze in to the expanse of greenness ahead of him, and nods. _Yeah, I’m coming.  
_

  
  
“Mike, _please _tell me I can pet it.” Eddie is watching Mike hand feed one of his cows. Its head is leaning over the fence as it chews and his stomach is brimming with an irrational fear but wordless wonder. Mike laughs, strokes the cow right between the eyes.  
  
“Hell yeah, you can.” Eddie feels something he can only describe as pure excitement stick in his throat. He looks to Richie, who is watching Eddie with bright eyes.  
  
“Before you even ask, yes. I’ll pat it with you.” Eddie grins wide, squeals and steps tentatively towards Mike. He raises his hand towards the animal. He can feel its breath on his palm, his heart is racing. Funnily enough, Eddie is kind of _terrified_. He thinks about lowering his hand and walking away, but he doesn’t _dare_. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans forward. Slowly, his hand presses against the cow and _oh god he’s touching it_. He must be outwardly panicking, because Mike and Richie are laughing at him. Eddie pays them no mind, gently running his hand over its skin. It feels rough, but _alive_. Obviously, Eddie knows that it’s alive, but touching the animal makes it just seem so much more real.  
  
“Richie, _feel it. _It’s wild.” Richie leans over Eddie, because he’s tall enough for that, and gives the cow a little stroke. He smiles. Eddie can feel his stomach pressing against his back, and the thought of that makes him blush a little.  
  
“You can feed her if you’d like.” Mike offers, and Eddie _beams.  
  
_“Holy shit, really!?” Mike nods, already pouring grain in to his hand. Eddie looks down. And if patting the damn thing made him nervous, then feeding it _definitely _does. So many thoughts run through his head. Like, _what if it bites off his finger?_ Or _what if it has some kind of disease and spreads it through his hand somehow?_ But he swallows them all down. Because Richie’s leaning over him and he’s still petting it. Something about having him close is kind of comforting, it’s like his presence makes him _that much braver_. Eddie swallows thickly and holds out his hand. The cow leans down to eat and Eddie immediately yelps. It feels _so fucking weird_, but it also tickles. He looks up at Richie as if to say _are you fucking seeing this? I’m feeding a cow! _And he finds that he’s already watching, a smile planted deep on his face. Eddie smiles back, pulling away once all the grain is gone. His hand is covered in its spit so, naturally, he does the only thing he _can do _in this situation and wipes his palm against Richie’s shirt.  
  
“Eddie!” He screams, jumping back. But it’s too late, his stomach is wet with the stuff. Eddie laughs. “I am _so going to get you for this_.” Richie cries. He runs towards him, and Eddie screams, sprinting away but laughing all the while.  
  
  
  
The losers (and Patty) eventually find themselves curled up in Mike’s living room, watching a horror movie that Richie picked out. Patricia and Stanley have decided to settle on the floor, leaning against the couch. Patty is sleeping on Stan’s shoulder, and he’s sitting so still that he’s probably extremely uncomfortable, but it’s endearing to see. Beverly is sitting next to Ben, joking all through the movie about how stupid the main characters are. Mike and Bill sit on one of the couches, _actually watching _quietly (although both of them seem kind of bored and tired) and then there’s Eddie and Richie.  
  
Eddie honest to god couldn’t tell you how he ended up there, but he’s sitting in Richie’s lap and he is _terrified. _No one else seems to be bothered but Eddie is just about in tears, shivering and cowering against Richie’s chest the whole time. The monster on screen will appear, and Eddie will be clutching at Richie’s shirt (which is actually Mike’s, since he had to change after having spit spread across his) and nuzzling in to his neck.  
  
At one point, he can’t watch any longer, so he buries his face against Richie and just stays there. And suddenly, Richie’s curling his arms around him and holding him close. Eventually, they end up lying across the couch, Richie watching the movie intently while Eddie lies across his chest.  
  
It’s a good distraction, because Eddie’s heart is racing over something else now. Richie is _warm, _his chest is soft, and he has to physically stop himself from rubbing his cheek against him because he wants to just snuggle closer. But he’s _as close _as he can be to Richie as possible, they’re flush against each other. He can’t stop thinking about it, how close he is. Before Eddie can even really think about it, he’s starting to get a boner so he has to excuse himself to the bathroom.  
  
Eddie sits a good couple of inches away from Richie when he comes back, for good measure.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak cannot sleep.  
  
He’s tossing in bed, rolling from side to side, and he just _can’t sleep.  
  
_Why, you ask? Because he’s kind of having a crisis right now.  
  
Here’s the thing: he’s had a revelation, and he wants to take it all back. He wants to return to his blissful ignorance.  
  
It all started at lunch. Everything was fine, honest to god, but then one of Patty’s friends, Stacie Taylor, walked over to their table and started talking to him. She was friendly enough, chatting about some movie she had seen the other day and her passion for horse riding.

Eddie let her talk, and nodded whenever she paused for him to respond, but he really just wanted her to stop so he could ask Richie if he was down to go to the arcade after school.  
  
But then she was twirling her hair, which was a mousy brown colour and pulled up in to a painfully tight pony tail, and looking _right in to his soul. _  
  
“Eddie, do you think you could come with me to grab something from my locker?” She asked, blinking innocently. Eddie kind of wanted to say no. In fact, he went to say no, but then Richie blurted out.  
  
“Get some, Kaspbrak!” And he was too embarrassed/ annoyed to think, so he got up and followed her down the hall. Her hair swished from side to side when she walked. It kind of annoyed Eddie, but he thought it was mean to think that, so he just focused on trailing behind.  
  
She stopped at her locker and turned to Eddie. And he, being the idiot he is, just stared at her like _why aren’t you opening your locker, Suzie? _Funnily enough, he even went to ask exactly that. But then he couldn’t talk, because she was inches away from him and her lips were suddenly on his. She had a thick layer of lip gloss on. It was sticky and wet and uncomfortable and not nice at all, so Eddie pulled away.  
  
He looked in to her big, blue eyes and thought _that was my first kiss. _He wanted to throw up on her pretty little shoes, because _oh god, he kissed someone and kissing involves spit, which involves germs, and that’s just so gross. _If Suzie hadn’t opened her mouth, he probably _would’ve _thrown up on her.  
  
“Eddie, I really like you.” She whispered. And then Eddie’s mind was racing again. _That was his first kiss. _He wanted to throw up for an entirely different reason, because he felt _nothing. _No sparks, no fireworks. Nothing. He looked in to her pretty, little eyes and did just about the most embarrassing thing he could’ve done.  
  
He ran.  
  
He ran down the hall and right out of the building until he was _sure _that he’d lost her. He banged his head against the wall in frustration. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Or anguish. Because that was his first kiss and he _really _didn’t enjoy it. Honestly, thinking about it, he _hated _it.  
  
So he tried to move on instead, and pretend nothing had happened and just get on with his damn day. But then he was in his P.E class (sitting on the bleachers because his mom _still _wouldn’t let him participate and he was yet to convince his teacher to ignore her requests) and watched his classmates run the track. And Eddie’s eyes must’ve been fucking betraying him, because he caught himself watching Leighton Jones, one of the jocks of his year. But no, he wasn’t just _watching _him. His mouth was damn near _watering _because he was watching the way his muscles clenched as they worked.  
  
And Eddie looked away the second he realized because _yeah, okay. That was weird. _But then he thought about his first kiss and wondered if it would’ve been better with a guy. Like Richie (who was trying his damnedest to convince their teacher that he was genuinely hurt after falling on the grass so he could sit with Eddie for the third time that week) or Leighton. And then he was imaging Leighton pressing him up against the school wall and he was feeling a heat pool in the pit of his stomach so he had to cross his legs.  
  
And just. _Fuck. _Eddie is a fucking mess.  
  
Like, _no. _Oh god, _no. _  
  
He’s lying in bed and he’s thinking about Suzie’s gross, sticky lips and he’s trying to feel _something_. But he can’t. Whenever he closes his eyes, Suzie glitches out and she becomes a boy, and it’s _that _thought that gets him going.  
  
And like hey, that’s great. Turns out he’s _gay. _And, Eddie doesn’t hate gay people or anything, but he really doesn’t want to be gay. Because those kinds of people have AIDS (he knows this because his mom told him) and the last thing he wants is to be dirty. Even better than that, Derry _hates _gay people. God, his _mom _hates people. His _friends _might hate gay people, too. And Eddie is exactly that. A gay person.  
  
Eddie is panicking and rolling back and forth like mad. He’s panicking and gay. He’s panicking _because _he’s gay. He’s panicking and gay and he probably has AIDS.  
  
He’s panicking, gay, and his first kiss fucking sucked.  
  
So, there’s that.

* * *

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie! I’m fucking- Beverly is in trouble and something is really fucked up with- shit, okay, shit, I know you can’t wait because of Mrs. K (fucking bitch) but fuck, I’m kind of freaking out. Beverly’s fucking- crying and I can’t really think because I’m dizzy but she doesn’t usually cry and holy shit fuck-“  
  
Eddie had been waiting after school to walk with Richie as per usual, when he came running up to him with _this. _He’s manic, his eyes wide, red and irritated. His hands are mangled in his mess of hair, tugging painfully tight, and he’s running off his mouth at one hundred miles an hour.  
  
“Calm the fuck down, Richie. Where is she?” Eddie’s kind of panicking too, because Richie is looking around wildly and huffing and he smells _so weird. _But he seems worried, and Richie doesn’t usually panic unless he _needs to _so Eddie’s mind is elsewhere; they need to go help Beverly.  
  
“Right, yeah, okay, holyfuck. In the uh, hidden spot with Ben, because we saw him walking past and-“  
  
“Richie, that _really _isn’t important right now.” Eddie grabs at Richie’s wrist and pulls him along to the back of the school. He can hear his friend’s frantic breathing and the mantra of ‘_fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck’_’s he’s calling. He tries to ignore it, marching at a steady pace, because they _both _don’t need to be panicking. Beverly needs help and he needs to fucking _focus.  
  
_By the time the hideout is in view, they’re both jogging, frantically squeezing through the gap and trying not to think about all the filth getting on them. Eddie is the first to enter the hidden space, and he lets go of Richie the moment they’re both through to focus on Beverly. Her wild hair is tangled, falling across her face carelessly. Tears streak her cheeks and smudge her makeup, her knees are pulled tight up to her body and she holds a poorly rolled cigarette. Eddie watches as Ben rubs soothing circles on her back and tries to pry it from her hands, to no avail. She’s breathing in tiny, little, frantic breaths and her eyes are fixated somewhere on the floor. The last thing Eddie notices, before snapping out of his trance, are the little red dots staining her arms. He can only see them because her sleeves are rolled up, but Eddie knows they’re burn marks. She has light little scratch marks, too, which is almost definitely a result of her absently scraping them up and down with her free hand.  
  
Richie squeezes in after Eddie and watches him with wide eyes. They look unfamiliar and weird, not quite _his _eyes, but they’re pleading him to _do something_. Suddenly, Eddie understands how overwhelming everything must be for Bill, because he can remember how many times he’s looked at him with that exact same expectant expression. It’s a look of trust, admiration and complete and utter dedication. It says ‘_well, do something, you’re the one who fixes things_’, and God, it’s taxing to have someone pin you down with that look. Eddie takes a deep breath, and tries to be Bill.   
  
“What’s happening, Ben?” He asks, moving to sit next to Beverly. She doesn’t even look up at him, just whispers something under her breath.  
  
“She keeps talking about her dad, I think they’ve been smoking pot.” Ben looks at Eddie with worried eyes and continues to rub at Beverly’s back. _Pot. _Eddie shoots Richie an accusing look, because _did he really get Beverly high!? _He throws up his hands immediately.  
  
“Her weed!” He hurriedly says in a voice that isn’t quite his, slouching down and grabbing at his temples. Richie rubs at them, wincing. He kind of looks _just as fucked _as Beverly, but he isn’t crying, so he isn’t quite on Eddie’s list of priorities right now, when Beverly is catatonic next to him.  
  
“Hey, Bev?” She looks up upon hearing her name, but it doesn’t feel like she’s looking at Eddie. She’s looking _past_ him, almost even _through _his head. “Could you hand me that?” Eddie points at the joint. She shakes her head.  
  
“I’ve been trying, she won’t let me.” Ben answers solemnly. Eddie nods, his mouth dry.  
  
Instead, he tries something new. The losers aren’t exactly the kind of group to point these things out, especially not to Beverly (who is tough as nails and acts like she’d be more offended by seeming weak than any of them). But Eddie thinks that it’s surprising enough, new enough, that it’ll get her talking. And once the words come out, he knows that she’ll start feeling a little more human and get a more grounded sense of reality.  
  
“How’d you get these?” He asks, pointing at the little round, red spots on her arms. Beverly looks down at them.  
  
“Dad.” She whispers. Eddie nods, trying not to seem overly worried. He knows that if he panics, gives her a pitiful look, she’ll shrivel away.  
  
“You can talk about it, y’know.” He whispers.  
  
“Cigarettes.” She mutters under her breath. She isn’t saying much, it’s as if she has a real life word limit, and she’s trying to save her voice up. Eddie gives her a soothing smile, because it’s progress, none-the-less.  
  
“Are you scared to go back home?”  
  
“Yeah.” And _boy,_ _does Eddie know how that feels.  
_  
“Can you stay at Bill’s?”  
  
“Broke up.” She shrugs. It’s a shock. A surreal part of Eddie want’s to ask all the typical questions like _‘when?’ _and ’_what happened?’ _but this isn’t a typical circumstance to find this out, so he keeps his mouth shut tight.   
  
“You can come to mine.” Richie blurts from behind. His eyes are wet. He isn’t quite yet crying, but he seems like he’s damn well on the edge of it.  
  
“I’m okay.” She whispers, and she seems to be calming down a little more, because she’s actually looking _in to their eyes, _instead of past them.  
  
“Could you pass me that joint?” Eddie asks. Beverly nods this time. Eddie crushes it in the ground as soon as he can, wiping his fingers across his pants because _some habits you just can’t suppress_, and weed grosses him out.  
  
“Richie, how long have you been smoking pot?” Ben asks. Richie shrugs.  
  
“Started last week.” Eddie gives Richie a glare and tries to push his anger down, because this is something they’ll need to _discuss later.  
  
_“Same dealer?” Richie shrugs in response, but Beverly speaks up.  
  
“I had less money, he said this was cheaper.” Eddie nods, realizing what Ben’s trying to figure out. He doesn’t know much about the stuff, but pot really shouldn’t be making them cry and grab at their hair. They need to figure out how serious this situation is, because if their friends are overdosing, then it’s only a matter of time before they’re in real trouble.   
  
“It might have something else in it.” Eddie suggests, looking at Ben. He nods, agreeing.  
  
“I’m fine, just a little more… emotional.” Beverly responds, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Eddie nods. _Could just be cheap weed.  
  
_“Richie?” He asks, wanting to make sure that they aren’t hallucinating or anything. Richie blinks at Eddie slowly.  
  
“It’s stronger. Feel a little dizzy.”  
  
“Okay. Bev, you should go to Ben’s house, yeah?”  
  
“My mom will ring your dad and explain why you’re over.” Ben offers, agreeing with Eddie. Beverly shakes her head, unconvinced. It isn’t a frantic movement, rather a contemplative one, which suggests that she’s already considering staying away from home. That’s good, that’s progress.  
  
“He won’t like that.”  
  
“You can’t stay at that _fucking house._” Richie spits, his face scrunched up in disgust.  
  
“Not helpful, Rich.” Eddie retorts back. They can’t yell at Bev or get too emotional, because she’s high as all fuck and in some weird state of fragility and _God, _they’re so close to being able to actually help her. But Richie doesn’t see any of this in Eddie’s face, because he’s too high. He just shrugs back as if to say ‘_hey, I don’t care. It’s true’. _  
  
“Come on, Bev. We’ll go to my house and figure things out from there. My mom is really nice, promise. She’ll look after you, and I won’t let anything happen.” Eddie watches as Ben smiles at Beverly kindly. She looks back at him, and they stare in to each other’s eyes in a private kind of way. Something unspoken is exchanged between them, and it seems to be enough to convince her, because Beverly nods.  
  
“Can we call my aunt when we get there?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Beverly gets up, and Ben carries her out. Eddie does the same with Richie. Before they head their separate ways, the two sober boys give each other a nod, as if to say ‘_take care of him/ her.’ _

Eddie walks Richie back home. He wobbles against Eddie’s small frame the whole way there, giggling at awkward points in time and walking in a staggered line. His mood switches like it’s nothing. He’ll pinch his temples with wide eyes, then stare at Eddie dopily. He doesn’t know what’s scarier: the mood swings, or the fact that Richie’s quiet.  
  
“You’ve been smoking pot?” Eddie asks, unimpressed. He doesn’t really want a response, because he’s honestly kind of pissed off and it’s probably the absolute _worst _time for them to argue, but he asks anyway. It’s been bothering him ever since the group split up, and he can’t help but mention it.  
  
“Mhmm, to destress.” Richie responds casually, as if it’s no big deal. _Destress. _If Richie needed to _destress,_ then he could’ve just gone to his house rather than risk his health with drugs. Eddie wrinkles his nose.  
  
“You shouldn’t take drugs to solve that issue.”  
  
“Nothing else helps.” Richie says, and he almost trips over his feet, so Eddie drops it all together and focuses on holding his friend steady. He doesn’t stop thinking about it, though, because _what kind of bullshit is that? Doesn’t help? _Eddie has _always _been there for Rich, and he definitely would’ve helped come up with a _healthier _solution.

It’s a slow walk back to Richie’s house, because the taller boy definitely is dragging them behind and Eddie makes sure to take side streets the whole way so that no one catches him high. By the time they do get back, Richie is leaning his whole body weight on him, and it’s a struggle to keep his feet moving. Mr. Tozier’s car is in the drive. It isn’t really an alarming thing for Eddie to notice, but it certainly is for the other boy, because his breath kicks up the second he catches sight of it.  
  
“Oh _God _no.” Eddie watches as Richie grabs at his curly black locks and tugs _hard. _He falls to his knees on the ground. God, he hates seeing him pull at something so pretty like that.  
  
“Rich, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Eddie tries not to panic, but it seems like he’s used up all of his calm on Beverly, because his voice is high and shrill and it seethes with concern. Richie looks up at him with wide eyes which dart all across his face.  
  
“He’s going to fucking _kill me._” He whispers, more to himself than anyone else. But his eyes, they’re pleading again. And he may as well be crying _help me _to Eddie, because that’s all he can hear when he looks at his friend.  
  
He really can’t take this, seeing him so broken. Richie is supposed to be the funny guy. The guy who is whole and perfect and tied together with iron bars because his will is just _so fucking strong. _But that isn’t the Richie who is whispering and panicking before him. Eddie fucking _hates _this, he wants to pick him up and take him away to some place _other than _Derry. He leans down to level with his friend and cups his face with his hands, because _what the fuck else is he supposed to do? _He looks in to those big, brown eyes and feels _so sorry. _Eddie is sorry for not being enough, not noticing. Because he doesn’t know what’s going on, but Richie is fucking _panicking _and Eddie is his fucking _best _friend, he should know. But he doesn’t.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He whispers instead, pressing their foreheads together. Richie looks up at Eddie, his lip wobbles. _God, _it really does hurt. He can feel a strong pain in his chest when he looks down and sees his best friend like this.  
  
“Eddie, I’m scared. Please don’t make me go in there.” Eddie’s heart _damn near breaks_ then. Richie’s fingers are pinching the hem of his sleeve, tugging desperately. There’s panic all across his face, and Eddie wants to take it all way. He can feel the tears stuck in his throat, but he swallows them down.  
  
“I’m not going to make you do _anything, _‘Chee.” And he means it, he really does. With the way Richie’s looking at him right now, he wouldn’t dare try.  
  
Something bubbles in Eddie’s heart, a burning _need _to prove it. He holds up his hand, eyes swimming in the other boy’s. And he’s honestly kind of impressed, because Richie is so high that he’s completely off the walls, but he gets the point almost immediately and presses his scar against his like there’s nothing else he’d rather do. 

Getting Richie up in to Eddie’s room is proving to be a struggle. At first, he tries to see if he can climb to the second floor and pull his body weight up to the window sill, but there’s nothing to grab on to. Richie probably would be able to make it normally, but he’s _high as all hell_, so any kind of physical activity is immediately doubled in difficulty.  
  
So, instead, they have to try the risky route. Eddie is holding Richie’s hand tight, so he doesn’t somehow lose him, and walking up to the front door on his tiptoes. Before he pushes the door open, he presses his index finger to his lip, silently telling him to shut the fuck up. Richie is giggling, but his laughs sound more like little pants, and Eddie figures that’s the best he’s going to get from him. They step inside and Eddie shuts the door behind them as quiet as possible, wincing when he hears the lock click. The soft sounds of the TV are humming from the living room, which they have to pass on the way to his room. He takes a shaky breath, unsure of how to pull this off, and takes the lead. Peeking past the archway, he sees his mom sitting lazily on the couch and watching the TV with a bored expression. _Fuck.  
  
_Eddie shoots Richie a stern look, _don’t fuck this up, Tozier, _and makes a sprint down the hall, Richie loosely following behind. His steps are small and light, barely audible, but the taller boy is much clunkier. The second they’re past the arch, Eddie pushes Richie towards the stairs to go up to his room.  
  
“Eddie!?” His mom calls.  
  
“Go, go.” Eddie whispers, motioning for Richie to leave. His friend nods and bites his lip, slowly slinking up to his room. He lets himself breathe, then pokes his head in to the living room.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Did you just get home, Eddie-bear?” She asks, smiling politely. Eddie nods.  
  
“Yes, mom. I really need to study, is it okay if I go to my room?” He stares at his mom hopefully. _Please don’t make me go to town, please don’t make me go to town, please-  
  
_“Of course, Eds. You’re such a good boy.” She smiles bright, and Eddie inwardly sighs. _Phew. _

_   
  
  
_“Do you want some water?”  
  
“’M fine, Eds.”   
  
“I think you should go to bed.” Eddie suggests. Richie smiles weakly.  
  
“But I wanna hang with you.” His words slur, which is a dead giveaway that is he _very clearly tired _and he _really does need to sleep. _Eddie shakes his head, feeling a bit like a mother as he looks after Richie.  
  
“I’ll talk to you until you pass out, how does that sound?” Richie nods, kicking off his shoes.  
  
“Mm. Okay, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie awkwardly leans over and ruffles Eddie’s hair. Slowly, he steps in to Eddie’s bed, curling under the covers until he’s comfortable. In all honestly, he looks blissfully peaceful as he pulls the bed sheets up to his chin, almost even beautiful. But Eddie tries not to think about that too much, because his best friend is still high and he needs to rest.  
  
Eddie slinks towards Richie, sitting anxiously on the edge of his bed, and watches him. Richie looks back towards Eddie with hooded eyes and blinks slowly.  
  
“You’re so friggin nice, Edward Kaspbrak.”  
  
“And you’re an idiot, so what’s new?”  
  
“Ouch.” Is all _the_ infamous Trashmouth Tozier can say. Eddie sighs, watching his eyes flutter closed. It doesn’t take long until Eddie is sure his friend is asleep. With a gentle smile, he slinks off the bed to give him privacy.  
  
“Don’t you dare, Spaghetti. I’m not sleeping until you cuddle me.” Eddie laughs, turning around. Richie’s eyes are still shut, but he’s shuffled across the bed to make room for him, arm raised invitingly. Eddie sighs and slowly climbs in to bed beside him. He makes sure to settle a few inches away, to give Richie personal space, but that kind gesture is almost immediately ruined when he’s pulled closer (thanks to those long, gangly arms) and pressed against his chest. Eddie can feel the rise and fall of Richie’s body as he breathes, and he’s extremely warm. Richie slings a leg and arm over his friend, snuggling closer and sighing sleepily.  
  
When his breathing evens to little, quiet baby snores, Eddie smiles, sure that his friend is asleep. He takes the opportunity to witness what a quiet, peaceful Richie looks like, because it’s a pretty rare occurrence. His hair is splayed across his pillow (_his _pillow, because he’s sleeping in _his _bed) and his thick, black eyelashes brush against his scrunched up cheeks. Richie’s lips are slightly parted, his breath tickles Eddie’s face. And _God_, he’s breathtaking.  
  
He can remember when his best friend was just an awkward little kid with glasses that barely fit. But _now look at him_. He’s growing in to his features and its working wonders for Richie Tozier because he kind of looks like a God, lying there. Eddie feels his cheeks turn hot. Their faces are only a few inches apart, and it’s a creepy thought but he really could kiss him right now. Eddie looks at his best friend, his _stunning _best friend, and all he can think is _I love you.  
  
_He doesn’t think he means it in a romantic way, but he definitely loves Richie Tozier. Because yeah, okay, he smokes weed and he’s a fucking _idiot. _Sometimes he doesn’t listen, he runs off his mouth all the time and honestly he’s _really fucking annoying_, but he’s also kind of perfect and gorgeous and amazing. He admires him so much.  
  
Eddie lies there and knows that he’s going to start doing better. He’s going to look out for Richie more, he’s going to ask about his family and he sure as hell isn’t going to let him get as upset as he’d been today.  
  
Eddie sighs because _yeah_, he’s pretty sure he loves him.

* * *

Eddie would never admit this, but it seems that expired, cheap and just generally dodgy weed was kind of what Beverly needed to send her life in the right direction. If _that _isn’t ironic, then what the fuck is?  
  
She called her Aunt that night, and everything happened very quickly after that.  
  
She phoned a hotel in Derry and managed to make it by the morning. Her name is Grace, her face is lined with soft wrinkles (particularly around the mouth from years of smiling) and she has brown hair with greying strands that she keeps on full display. She’s kind, from what Eddie’s heard, and extremely excited to take Beverly away.  
  
Bev moved in to the hotel pretty much immediately, and Alvin Marsh was anything more than happy. He didn’t know what was happening, so he visited all of the loser’s houses instead, in a desperate attempt to figure out where the fuck she had been (of course, he didn’t go to Eddie’s place though, because she had never stayed there anyway). Richie had been home alone the night that Alvin knocked on his door. He told Eddie that he was worried that the oaf would kick it down and storm through his house, but he gave up after fifteen minutes, thankfully.  
  
Ben and Bill copped the worst of it. For Ben it was because Alvin had walked in to his house a year ago. He was angry with Bill for having dated his daughter (even worse than _that_¸ he thought they still were together). When Beverly’s father came knocking on Ben’s door, his mom invited him politely inside for a cup of tea and, in Ben’s words, ‘_Did an impressive amount of bullshitting_’. She gasped and gave Alvin sorry looks, muttering ‘_God, no. We have no idea where she’s run off to.’ _all the while. Bill’s parents opened the door, and they didn’t have to lie for even a second about not knowing where Beverly was. In fact, they stood there and asked ‘_Bill’s friend? Are you sure?’ _(Bill also added to this story, rather bitterly ‘_O-of c-course they d-d-didn’t know. Why would they give a s-sh-shit about who’s in my life?’_) Alvin pressed on further, but eventually left. Bill had a conversation with his parents about it, but it only really took him ten minutes of continuous shrugging to let them leave him alone and head back to the lounge room.  
  
So that’s how Eddie ends up here. He’s crawling through his bedroom window and looking down at the jump he has to make shakily (because God knows he doesn’t want to break his arm from a fall again). There’s a shitty little bracelet in his back pocket, which he had managed to plat together with different pieces of thread he found in the house; it isn’t a fancy gift, but Eddie wants to give Beverly something to remember him by anyway. He lets himself dangle by his hands and takes a shaky breath, letting go in a leap of faith. He lands, and he’s fine. So he rides. He pumps his legs as he rides a bike that has honestly gotten far too small for him, and makes his way to Ben’s house as quickly as he can, since he’s already running late by a few minutes.

The losers all sit around in a circle on the floor, listening to Beverly discuss her aunt’s house.  
  
“It’s in the country, I think it’ll be really nice to get away from the madness of Derry. It’s kind of like your farm, Mike.” She smiles.  
  
“Will you be homeschooled?” Mike asks in response, interested in how similar their daily lives will be. Beverly shakes her head.  
  
“No, there’s a small school nearby. But I’m really excited to make new friends there, y’know? Start off fresh.” She’s gleaming, and Eddie is so happy for her. There’s something incredibly endearing and heartwarming about watching your friend’s life turn around after so many years of shit. But beneath Eddie’s happiness is something else, a simmering worry.  
  
“You won’t forget us though, will you?” He asks. Eddie has never experienced it, but his mom’s distance from her old friends proves what he’s thinking: it’s extremely easy to move on and pretend nothing else had happened before then.  
  
“Of course not, Eddie. You’re all my family. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are, because family is forever.” She gives him a serious look, truly believing what she’s saying. Eddie isn’t completely convinced, but he appreciates her telling him this any way.  
  
“Bev, what does Grace’s house look like?” And the conversation moves on, Beverly talking with an animated liveliness about her new home, her new life. It’s exciting, for sure, but it’s also is scary. Because it’s all too tempting to forget the shittier times when a second chance is being presented to you with a pretty, pink ribbon.  
  
  
  


Eddie looks at the watch on his wrist and his eyes immediately widen: 5:00 am. _Shit_, he needs to get home before his mom notices he’s snuck out.  
  
“Bev, I’m really sorry but I have to go, mom’s going to kill me if she notices I’m gone.” Eddie apologetically stands up, getting ready to leave. Richie stands up next to him, too.  
  
“I’ll walk you home!”  
  
“No, you won’t. You don’t have to, spend more time with Bev.” But Beverly is already giving Richie a nod as if to say _it’s fine. _So Eddie gives up, because it’s his choice if he wants to leave now (and he isn’t too keen on the idea of biking back alone). He hugs Beverly tight in an embrace that feels distinctively like a goodbye. Beverly cups Eddie’s face in her hands warmly and kisses his temple.  
  
“Why did you do that?” Eddie asks, giggling because her lips tickle. Beverly smiles in to Edie’s eyes and hugs him again.  
  
“I’m going to miss you, Eddie. But I’ll visit as much as I can. Look after yourself.” Eddie nods and moves to talk to everyone else while Richie and Beverly say their goodbyes. They keep whispering to each other and looking back at Eddie as if they’re talking about him. He ignores it, anyway, because they deserve their privacy, and waits for them to finish up.

  
  


With their bikes beside their bodies, Richie and Eddie walk back to the Kaspbrak residence. The sun is rising and the sky is starting to fade out of a pretty pink colour to a blue. The air is chilly, so Eddie pulls his sweater tighter around him.  
  
“Cold, Eddie Spaghetti?” Eddie rolls his eyes, smiling all the while.  
  
“I’m fine.” He shrugs. He can feel the wind but it’s bearable. Nippy, yeah, but not worth complaining about. Richie shrugs out of his hoodie anyway, throwing it over to the other boy nonchalantly.  
  
“Wear it.” Eddie shakes his head.  
  
“But then you’ll be cold.”  
  
“I’m fine. Can’t even feel it.” Richie grins back convincingly and Eddie takes his jumper, shrugging it over his arms. It’s definitely too big for him, he has to roll up the sleeves and the bottom of the jumper hangs close to his knees. But it does the trick, he’s immediately swarmed with a cozy warmth, the smell of Richie staining his nose.  
  
“Oh my _God_, Eds. You’re adorable!” Richie leans over his bike and pinches Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie rolls his eyes, blushing pink, and continues walking.  
  
“For the millionth time, don’t call me Eds.”  
  
“You love it.” Eddie says nothing, because he isn’t about to admit that his friend is right.  
  
After a considerable amount of time walking quietly side by side, Richie sighs.  
  
“I’m gonna miss her.”  
  
“Yeah.” Eddie says. But it mostly comes out like a breath, because his thoughts are too muddy and confused for him to speak.  
  
“I mean, who else will I talk to about my shit?”  
  
_Me, idiot_, Eddie thinks. He doesn’t say it though, because he knows that the two of them have been hanging out every day recently. Richie doesn’t really mean _who will I talk to?, _because that question would warrant a response like ‘me’. He isn’t grieving being unable to talk to someone in a Richie and Eddie kind of way, he’s going to miss talking to someone like how he talks to Beverly. And he gets it, he really does, because while he rarely hung out with her, Beverly has always been there to talk whenever he felt like no one else would listen. Having that safety net gone, that kind of support where you don’t have to worry about shit coming back to you, is kind of frightening.


End file.
